What a month. What a summer. What a year! Changes are afoot, my friends. Next week I will be a whole year older than I am now (I hear that's not really how it works, but I refuse to believe it), and embarking on the final year of my third decade. That means it's real, now. It's on: I'm an adult. Whoops. Is this when I'm supposed to stop eating so much butter? No can do, I'm afraid.
But enough about me, plenty of time for these existential meanderings next week. Today is about another little someone, who, I must say, is aging very gracefully.
Happy Four Months, Little Little!
She loves her feet! And who wouldn't, with cashmere blend Tiny Shoes to put on them? These buttons are my favorite. They will have to get recycled onto something else, since these shoes have just about had their run (har), it's getting hard to squeeze those growing feet into them anymore. All knitwear here gifted by the incomparable Star, I can't remember what the sweater pattern was...you will have to go over and ask her.
Anaiah gets told a lot that she looks like her big brother. For comparison's sake, here's Anatole at the same age (with Polaroid!):
Anyhoo, Anaiah loves ::
:: grabbing things and putting them in her mouth (she has gotten downright predatory, watching her sometimes is like watching a chicken go after a fat fly...)
:: smiles. Hers, yours, the world is her oyster, and it's grinning.
:: her big brother.
:: my knees. No joke. They are her juicy fly, it can be a bit disconcerting, but she loves to gum my kneecaps. What up, Little?
:: pretty sounds! Things that make music are the living end!
:: Sophie la girafe
:: food, glorious food! She has had a rather monotonous diet so far and she is ready to experiment. I have to be pretty nimble with my dinner plate, see predatory chicken comment above. She has yet to actually EAT anything, though once I put just the whisper of a drop of my very minty Spry mouthwash on her tongue, ahahaha, it was hilarious. I highly recommend it if you are in a bit of a rut in your day.
:: bouncing up and down. Sorry, 'jumping'. If brother is there to jump, too, it is the best of times.
:: showers, sensible little peapod. (Baths, too, but showers are better.)
:: telling really long stories with apparently no real plot to them. We are working on this.
:: songs about her.
:: doing her calisthenics. She can almost sit up by herself! I tried to take some pictures of this in action:
(she's on my lap, I'm awkwardly trying to hold the camera as far away as possible and point it in the proper direction without dropping anything...she was much safer than my camera throughout this maneuver because she is such a rock star at sitting herself up with a little structural support.)
:: all the other usual stuff, like snuggles and my milk works. She often hums while she nurses, it cracks me up, it's like the chef bustling about the kitchen and humming while crafting her oeuvre.
Sigh. All things good.
Oh, and Anaiah hates ::
:: the car.
Ah well, nobody's perfect. But apparently she is also sometimes a troll when I'm not looking. Which is about as cool as you can get. (also a bug. Anatole came over and put these flowers behind her ears and took the pictures, we laughed ourselves silly when we saw them.)
But most often, this is her, to a T.
Ready to fly.