Saturday, August 21, 2010
Baby Girl, at seven months old:
You weigh twenty pounds.
You are 26 inches tall.
You blow raspberries.
You love your cousins and all other kids and babies.
You get on your hands and knees and rock, frustrated that you can’t crawl.
You’ll eat most anything, especially if it comes from my plate.
You hate peas.
You sleep on your side with your monkey on your face.
You love banging on a keyboard piano that was handed down from Julia to Harper to you.
You can’t get enough of jumping in your bouncy horse.
You think a frozen washcloth is a special treat.
You are learning to wave and give kisses.
You roll all over the place, getting into things and reminding Mommy it is time to baby-proof.
You love balls and chewing on foam bath-toy letters.
You watch sports with Daddy, snuggled in his recliner.
You are working on baby sign language with Mommy.
You enjoy swimming and bathing.
You love empty food wrappers/bags that are loud and crunchy.
You charm strangers.
You are about to move to a big-girl carseat.
You are about to start Mother's Day Out.
You make us so very happy.