Happy Birthday!

In the space of a year you've grown from a tiny peanut to the dynamic baby who's trying to stand up all by herself. A year ago it almost made me cry to look at the little wrinkles on your elbows. You were so tiny! I wanted to fatten you up immediately- inject you with chubbs. Nowadays looking at you still makes me want to cry sometimes, but it's because I'm just so pleased with how much you've grown.

You've learned to crawl, to pull up, and to wave "Hi!". Sometimes you hold a blanket up and play peek-a-boo with it. You know who Poppy, Bubba and Doggie are, but you haven't deigned to say their names yet. You prefer to growl like a Monster baby. Rar. Rarrr! The only word you say is "Mmmmmm", which means everything that goes in a mouth. I'm not complaining, it's progress. You love, love!!, to try to stand up in the middle of the room without holding on to anything. The wobbly feeling you have as you try to find your balance makes you laugh and laugh.

This week you've decided that laying in my arms to drink your bottle is a pleasure. This is a change from recent weeks when drinking a bottle was Such A Chore, as there were a million more interesting things to do and explore. Apparently you've realized that drinking in my arms is a good way to recharge. Feel the love. Find your zen. Ahhhh.

You've got six teeth, which you use to try and bite anyone who crosses you. I took a piece of paper you were chewing out of your mouth. You cried and pulled my hand into your mouth and bit it. You were crying and shaking with the effort. Willful!

You've given us our share of worries this year, but you're a tough little git. I don't think you're half the delicate flower we sometimes fret over. I think many of your tears aren't as much about pain as they are anger.

Here's hoping your next year is every bit as fruitful as your first.
Love,
Mom