11 months (is almost one year)

Dear Lila,

How do we have an 11-month old? I’m fairly certain every month goes by more quickly than the last, and that you’ll be driving by winter. The answer to whether you can date and wear make up yet remains a firm “no.”

Sweet girl, you are overflowing with personality. You’ve begun to express your sentiments about various situations quite vocally. For instance, if we try to wipe your nose, we are greeted with a blood-curdling scream at a volume I did not imagine existed in this world. Whereas, if we give you pieces of banana, you will shriek with glee as if we’ve presented you with a pony carrying a winning lottery ticket in its mouth.

You giggle and pant when we crawl around after you playing “tag,” and you crack yourself up interacting with the dogs. Last month you endured Roseola and a sinus infection like a champ, while cutting your third tooth (a top one, finally).

Your # 1 goal in life is consuming dogfood. If babies wore bumper stickers (not a bad idea, really), yours would say, “All Kibbles, All the Time.” I pulled five out of your mouth a few weeks ago, much to your vocalized dismay.

Your # 2 goal is to never go to bed without a fight. And I get it, bedtime kind of sucks. I’ve never liked it. But once the protests cease and you do go down, you sleep like a professional; 12 hours is the norm.

We’ve started taking you swimming, and there is — quite honestly — nothing cuter than your little baby self sporting a little baby bathing suit, with sunblock smeared all over your face. You love the water and are very content floating around with us.

You are walking while holding our hands or using your walker, clapping, waving and mimicking sounds that we make. You are a regular cacophony: grunts, signs, gasps, clucks…you’ve got a lot to say and sister doesn’t hold back. You’ve also started to point and are beginning to explore holding books and turning pages.

You love wrestling with your giant stuffed giraffe and are a complete wiggle worm during diaper changes. It’s become an exercise akin to calf roping.

You’ve sprouted some curls in your hair, which delights and terrifies me. The delight is that I apparently have one dominant gene in your DNA (woot!), but the terror is anticipating the 12-year stage you’ll go through of hating it. Don’t worry, mom has an armory of tricks and products at the ready.

You are the sweetest and most entertaining little human and you enrich our lives more everyday. I relish watching you grow and learn.

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