Oh, my sweet little child. My stubborn, pretend-laughing, big-grinning, drooly-kissing sweet pixie girl. You're eleven months old today!
The past month has been one of many changes, and it blows my mind how quickly things are moving.
You're clapping now - for yourself, for others, for no reason whatsoever - and you cheer when you've successfully (and unsuccessfully) stacked your rings, when you hear any level of enthusiasm from mom and dad (yes, you ARE the best sweet potato eater!), and whenever there's a lull in the day (best boredom-crusher ever). It's joyful and simple and pure, and I could watch you do it all day long.
You're waving! Waving to the world, from strangers on the subway to Jack and Lucy. And oh, how crushing it is when you can't get Lucy to wave back to you - I'm sure you'll pay her back a hundredfold once you're walking, right?
You give high-fives and kisses on request, and you're working oh-so-hard on copying the sounds your parents keep saying over and over and over again. You get where the sounds come from, and that is fascinating. "Jack" is a sound, and "SSSSSSnake" is a sound, and you get that. My brain's going to melt out my ears when you start saying actual words, babycakes.
YOU ARE CRAWLING LIKE A BOSS. You've yet to get up on all fours, but you would give any Marine a run for his money on the army crawl - your tiny little arms drag you all over your room from toy to book and back again. You're as relentless as a zombie. A cute zombie, sure, but a zombie.
I want to memorize every second with you, my teense. Every perfect, ridiculous, wonderful second.
I. Love. You.