11 months... Already?

Chicky Baby,

My dear, darling child... why must you grow so quickly? You're 11 months today and, since you're getting older at an alarming rate, I've decided that we need (okay, Mama needs) to toast the occasion with a couple of Guinness. It is St. Patty's day, after all. That's two for me, none for you. You can have beer when you're 21, or when one of our weird relatives sneaks it to you when I'm not looking. Or when you're 17 and you sneak off to party in the woods with your friends, just like your Mom did. Just don't tell me about it until you're 28. Which will be any day now. At least that's what it feels like.

I see you changing now where I didn't see it before. Sometimes when we see someone everyday its hard to see the subtle differences in their faces. But you're starting to take on some "kid" physical characteristics and you're looking less "babyish". You're longer, and your hair is starting to grow. Don't get me wrong - you're still a baby. You haven't figured out how to change your own diaper yet, but because you're a baby I'm letting you get away with that. You really need to step it up in the coffee making department, though. If I'm expected to feed you breakfast, lunch and dinner the least you can do is get me my morning cup of joe after you've woken me at an un-Godly hour.

In the last month you've become so much more aware of your surroundings. You love staring out the window at the cars and people going by. This usually happens when I'm trying to shove carrots down your throat. Its very frustrating for Mama. I can teach my dogs to pay attention to me when I ask, but I can't get my daughter's attention. Maybe I should start using liver treats with you too.

Speaking of that, this month I've trained you to perform a bunch of tricks... Ahem... I mean I've taught you important games that will help your cognitive development. Last month you learned pat-a-cake and "So Big", this month you've gotten really good at your stacking rings, blocks, and basketball hoop thingie. But my favorite is how you give "Big Loves". If I ask for Big Loves you'll rest your head on my shoulder, give me a gigantic hug and go "Aaahhhhwww". I can't even describe how much this makes my heart want to burst. You love to love everything...



You love your toys...

...You love Daddy...

...You're not quite sure how you feel about being loved in return...

But until you're 18 and/or out of my house you are not allowed to love George W. Bush...

You can, however, chew on his head

You even initiate games. You're favorite goes something like this. You look at me, very pointedly, with a big smile and say "Da Da!". Then you wait for me to say "Very Good! Now say Ma Ma". To which you happily say "Da Da!"

Me: "Maaa MA?"

You: "Daaa DA!"

Me: "MA MA?"

You: "DA DA!!"

Throw me a bone, kid. Say Mama for something other than when you're hungry, tired, or unhappy. I'm begging.

Love,

MaaaMA!