Over a year, Junebug! I’m officially one of those moms who refers to her more-than-one-year-old by months, which I always used to think was the grown up version of the four-year-old insisting she is actually four and a quarter, thank you very much. But, you know, I get it now. You grow and change so much every month, it’s kind of apples and oranges looking at you next to an 11- or 15-month-old.
You can’t quite climb onto the couch normally yet, but you’ve figured out how to lift up one of the cushions so that it’s short enough for you to get up on the deck. You like to lounge there for a moment, looking around the room with a very self-satisfied smile, and then you go tearing off to the other end of the sofa. Obviously somebody’s got to throw all those pillows on the floor, and you’ve taken on the job. We do this at least three times a day. Other than the oven drawer, it’s your favorite place to be.
When I want you to look at the camera, I usually snap my fingers near the lens (you’re totally indifferent to me saying your name). Lately you’ve been trying to snap back! But mostly you just make little grabby claw hands.
There are a few cabinets we occasionally open for you: pots&pans, and tupperware. Usually it’s when we’re desperate for you to entertain yourself, just for a little bit. Which generally means that you’ve already trashed and grown bored with the rest of the downstairs. Cleaning up after you doesn’t take that long, but it does begin to feel pointless; sometimes you literally follow me around pulling down/out all the toys I pick up. It’s a game we play. But I’m trying to stay on top of it; it’s so depressing walking into a messy house.
You love to be outside, despite the wicked mosquito population we have this year. You must have at least a dozen bites right now; the deet-free repellent doesn’t work at all. The skeeters seem to consider it some sort of herb-spiced meat rub. Luckily you haven’t figured out how to scratch an itch yet. Actually, you haven’t even figured out how to get giant pieces of packing tape off your forehead yet (I like to mess with you when we get a package), so I shouldn’t be surprised those little fingers can’t find a tiny little mosquito bite.
Walking efforts continue. Actually, today was the first day you started walking between people/objects slowly and carefully, rather than with your crazy, head-first lunge. It’s a lot less scary that way, isn’t it?
You love to dance, and are the first person in the room to notice music, always. It’s funny; I’m so acclimated to hearing those little 3 second snippets of music between stories on public radio or podcasts, I don’t even hear them but suddenly you’ll be grinning and going crazy in my arms, compelled to dance, confused when it ends abruptly.
Little wild thing! We love the dickens out of you.