Time flies. Babies grow. The tiniest girl is so grown-up that she doesn't even flinch when it's time for a shot. She stands a full 36 inches in her chucks and is nearly a bit less than a pound per inch (which just for the record is exactly where she should be according to our incredible pediatrician).
Her sentences take on more words each day. A few evenings ago, she walked over to her Dadoo who was searching under the bed for a flip-flop and matter-of-factly asked, 'What're-ya lookin' at, Dadoo?'
Though she's always talked with us and her favorite pals, she's starting to talk more with people she's less familiar with. She loves puzzles and play-dough and reading and listening to 'pretty music'. She knows how to work the photos on Dadoo's ipod, and she can count to ten (though she doesn't like the the smallest squared prime number).
She knows all her ABC's and mouths the words to many songs, though these days the only ones she'll really sing are the ones she makes up herself. She likes to read herself books, and she loves kissing Remy right on the mouth. He licks her back almost every time.
Some people say she looks a lot like Mama. Some days she does. But every day, her eyes are all Dadoo.
