Dear Amelia {Eleven months}


Dear Amelia,

Well, this is probably your second to last monthly letter. You are turning ONE next month. (I would love to say I’ll have the energy to continue to do them monthly into your second year, but who are we kidding?) How is that even possible? It seems like just yesterday I was anxiously waiting your arrival, and now look at you.

You are all over the place these days. You are crawling, pulling up, cruising, and getting your balance together to start walking. You are also, like your mom, an accident waiting to happen. Your legs are covered in bruises, and you fall over a lot. None of these things stop you from going after what you want, though. You are, in a word, persistent. Once something is in your sight, you will stop at nothing to get it. And if we take it away from you? Hooboy, look out, because you can already throw an impressive temper tantrum (or as I prefer to say, a hissy fit).

For the most part though, you are still a good, happy baby with smiles for everyone.

Speaking of smiles, you have two new teeth coming in. You will (probably) close out your first year with five pearly white chompers. You use them well, as you will eat just about anything we put in front of you. This is good, because you have pretty much weaned yourself off of bottles. You still get one every morning, but I don’t know if that’s more for me or for you. (I love the cuddle time! Some days it’s the only cuddle time I get.)

By far the biggest change this past month is we are now residents of the Hoosier State. You were a total trooper on the drive up here, and so far you are adjusting well, with only a few minor issues here and there (we are currently dealing with a little sleep regression–I am listening to you cry over the monitor as I write this. Go to sleep, baby, you are so tired!). I am happy to report everyone up here finds you just as adorable as everyone in Louisiana did. Your cuteness is universal.

Next month, we’ll celebrate your first birthday for the second time (you already had one party with all your favorite people in Louisiana). You will be excited to eat cake again, but I will probably cry. Just warning you now. (I can’t believe we’re already almost here, and it’s scary because before I know it, you’ll be reading these yourself and saying “Mommmmm, why do have to be so embarrassing? My friends could read this.” And I’ll laugh, because that’s what moms do.) In the meantime though, don’t mind if I try to snuggle you a little closer and longer to try to soak up all the babyhood you have left.

I love you to the moon and back, Boo Bear.



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