I guess my I should say that since November, I've learned that one should never begin a blog with the expectation that the blog's simple existence will encourage that person to actually put fingers to keys and write something. Not so, my friend.
When last I recorded a tidbit from our life, Olivia was four months old. She was tiny, and chubby, and just beginning to eat baby food. If I put her somewhere, I could expect that she would stay there. Grocery shopping was a breeze, with my only speed bumps being smitten little old ladies. (metaphoric speed bumps.) Today, she is closing in on 13 months, and she is an amazing little creature.
She devours fruit, scrambled eggs, cheese and any sweet that she can con me out of with those big blue eyes. She does not stay where I place her--in fact, like a cartoon character, her legs are running before they touch the Earth--and grocery trips sometimes take two hours and reduce me to a pleading, package-opening, teary-eyed mess. Would I like help out with those groceries? Yes, please. Maybe you could put them in my kitchen, too? And maybe make dinner?
Currently, she is sitting on the floor of our television room watching Sesame Street fiddling with chunks of the X-Box remote that she dismantles every chance she gets. I am staring at her, marveling at how much she's changed since she was that wee little infant. She notices this and toddles over to me and climbs in my lap.
Although it is almost noon, her fine blonde hair is still frizzed from sleep, and I think she could really use a new diaper.
She has now dismantled the mouse for the computer, and wandered back to the TV to smile and bounce to Elmo singing a country-style song with ducks for back-up singers.
Time to get back to enjoying this rainy day.