Sixteen.
More Six Until Me. Aug 19, 2011, 1:58 pm
Oh, you.
Birdzone, you are sixteen months old. And that’s, like, a big deal because you’ve now been "out" for double the amount of time you were "in." That’s some nice, neat math that I can handle. (Unlike the calculations of how many diapers your dad and I have changed in the last sixteen months. That’s a staggeringly gross number.)
Every day with you is a a strange little circus (with you as the short ringmaster and me as the bear on a unicycle). The learning curve now has Dexcom-esque double arrows up, because you are doing something new every single day.
You have inherited your mama’s techno-joy. You want to hug and snuggle my cell phone (when it rings, you are astounded), and you have your own "cell phone" (an old Blackberry of mine) that you wander around the house with, "talking." You love the Dexcom receiver (and you also loved Abby’s Dexcom receiver, smashing mine and hers together at CBC this week and disrupting the diabetes space-time continuum). And you love the remote control. If it has buttons, you want to push them. Including your belly-button, which you’ve recently discovered and you obsessively check to make sure it’s still there.
"And my mom was all BLAH BLAH BLAH …"
Your hair continues to be an evolving, yet beautiful crisis. Because you have more hair that most adults, you get warm fast. Actually, you start to sweat madly whenever the sun is out (or at least that’s been your deal this summer … we don’t have much to compare … Read the Rest
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