Well, it's official. My baby is not a baby anymore.
Tamsin turned one this week, with a reasonable amount of fanfare (for a change). Maybe it's the
exhaustion wisdom that comes with having a third child. Maybe it's the fact that I'm at home with three kids and trying to keep all the balls in the air while Chris is in Toronto (he came home for the weekend, though!) and the date that I had picked for her party (ok, ok, it was sort of last-minute) conflicted with absolutely everyone's schedules. Or maybe, just maybe, birthdays are about more than big, exciting parties involving lots of kids and their parents messing up my tiny house.*
They're about cake.
|"You've been holding out on me. This cake is awesome!"|
|(and party dresses - thanks, Uncle Mal and Aunt Lorraine!)|
And cousins! Here, everyone decorates their own gingerbread man to take home. Our resident ginger supervises with interest.
Other Toonamint factoids: she is maintaining her 75th percentile height-and-weight stats, but still claims to be my daughter. She completed her 1-year molaring yesterday (thank god), and surprised us on the day after her birthday by taking 3 steps by herself! Today, she casually whipped out two new baby signs ("more" and "food") (having mastered "all done" with a tray full of carrots last week!)... all this, of course, means that I am beginning to suspect that she has been coasting along and toying with us for quite some time.
She is a relaxed, funny, sweet little girl, who love, love, loves her big brother, and tolerates her big sister (who mauls her (lovingly) at every opportunity). Actually, wait. She is relaxed and sweet until about 4 pm, at which point she embraces her true redhaired persona and loses her mind. Only dinner can soothe the beastie, unless it involves tomatoes or green beans, which seem to offend her to her core. She will pick them out of her mouth, look you in the eye calmly, and drop them off the side of her high chair. Charming.
Until the last few days, she has absolutely hated books, screaming and squirming every time I picked one up to share, and leading me to wail despairingly to Chris on several occasions, "She's going to be illiterate!". Today, she climbed into my lap with Brown Bear, Brown Bear, and even turned the pages. She has been pulling Dogs out of the bookshelf to read to herself, too.
She knows it's funny when she puts things on her head, and often tries to put other people's socks and shoes on her feet. She plays independently (see also, third child and exhausted mom), enjoys going to child-minding at the gym, and is as friendly and social as her brother and sister. She dances when she hears music, enjoys clapping her hands, and thinks there is nothing worse in the world than being stuffed into first a snowsuit and then a carseat... but then the warmth and coziness puts her to sleep in minutes.**
All in all, we're still quite smitten, and are glad we had her. Keep growing, kiddo.
But not too fast.
* This will probably not happen again, though - it seemed too under control... we will have to start preparing her for next year.
**Note to world: Feel free to stuff me into a snowsuit and then a carseat and carry me around, all cozy and warm. It sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me. Especially if you can also throw in snacks.