Wednesday, April 20, 2005

She's one year and one month old, and she's amazing. She walks now, albeit tentatively; she eats the same food I eat; she pets the dogs (and feeds them her Cheerios); she is a little person, just waiting to have the vocabulary to tell me off when I won't let her press the keys on my laptop. She wants to be big: she won't eat mushy food -- even applesauce; she eats better when I give her a metal spoon instead of the plastic baby spoons we've used since she first ate bananas -- and speaking of bananas, she eats one every day. I'll stand at the counter slicing round banana-circles, she'll pop one into her mouth and then grab my hands to go for a walk, and we'll be halfway across the kitchen floor when she realizes it's time for another slice: gotta go back! Repeat til the banana skin is a floppy castaway, and then it's time to do laps around the livingroom with her push-toy. She decided two days ago that it IS a handy thing to have about. There's so much more, but the child wears me out like a disposable diaper, and if that image isn't enough to end on, I don't know what is.