Today you are eight months, one week and two days old. Told you I would be late with the eight month birthday letter. I've been much too busy chasing around my semi-mobile little lady to sit and type. Priorities, right?
You have had quite the month, baby. You are learning, learning, learning. Each day I'm convinced you have discovered something new. Your thumb, crawling, waving, playing so big, your voice...
A few a highlights from your last month:
You started feeding yourself. It's not clean, but it's your preference. If we try to feed you, it typically becomes a game involving you blowing raspberries (and whatever is in your mouth) all over the place. You feeding yourself is equally as messy, but I'm convinced you get more in your tummy that way. For the record, no teeth yet-we're eagerly waiting in anticipation.
You sort of hold on to your own bottle. You and Daddy work on this trick every night. I'm not a willing participant because I plan on keeping you a baby forever. When Daddy changes that, I'll be pushing even harder to get you a baby brother or sister. I consider this is fair warning.
You got your first baby doll from your Nanny and Papa and you are madly in love. I think it might have something to do with her hard plastic hands that you can't stop chewing on.
You aren't officially crawling yet, but you are close. Really, really close. You are easily frustrated these days because you are so aware of your surroundings but have to work so hard to get to what you want. I have a sneaking suspicion that when you figure out how to crawl it won't be long before you run. I'm currently saving my energy.
You wave, do "SO BIG" and give high fives like no bodies business. You are saying words that sound like ba-ba (bottle), hi, and da-da (which I think secretly means Mommy). You also still make a high pitched screaming sound--a lot. If this is preparing me for your teenage years, I'm scared.
You're the coolest eight month, one week, two day old little girl I know. I'm enthralled with watching you get older and discover everything but cringing that my little baby is quickly becoming my little girl. Promise me that even if you stop being a baby, you'll never stop being my little girl, ok?
I love you, Mimi.
Happy 8 Months,