She had zero interest in doing photos this past month. True Life: My daughter would rather play with her books than be my wage-less model. Woe, is me.
At eight months, she is joy personified. Everything we do is absolutely hysterical in her eyes. She’s great for the ego. She loves to dance SO much. Mostly with music in the background, sometimes not. The girl has a rhythm in her soul (that she did not get from me – or her father, for that matter). At daycare pick-up there are many times that we’ll walk in and find her dancing and laughing, having the time of her life. Then she’ll turn, see Andrew, and exclaim, “Da!” as she clamors to get into his arms. It’s incredible.
She says Mama/Ma, Dada/Da, and a few times “bye” has snuck out as well. She’s also working on waving. True to form though, these are not party tricks and she will not perform for the amusement of adults. If the occasion calls for a wave from Her Royal Highness, well then so be it. But don’t go making demands for your pleasure, peasant.
She is so grown. I feel like from day one she has been chasing toddlerhood, hating her limited existence as a newborn. She is happy and content now that her body has caught up with her mind and she can do the things she has always wanted.
Every so often though, I’ll look over and find she’s gotten her pacifier and she’s my little baby all over again.
When she figured out how to rock the recliner, all bets were off. I think she’ll be joining me on roller coasters one day. (Sorry, Dada.)