You are 11 months and six days old. Your mother is in denial about your age. I refuse to believe that we are on the final countdown to your first birthday. That time keeps marching forward so relentlessly. That soon - very soon - you are going to transition from "infant" to "toddler". That transition is already well underway, in fact. Because, toddle, you do. You are standing. Pulling up and standing with the assistance of various pieces of furniture. Like it's nothing really.
You are also talking. I am a bit more convinced of this fact that n your father. It's not that he doesn't believe what you're saying, sweetheart. He's just not very good with accents. He can barely understand the British, my love, so don't be offended that he doesn't fully grasp your baby dialect. But I know that when you say, "Dadu", you mean, "Dante" our little dog. I've heard you say "up". And "that". "Row" a la Row Row Row Your Boat and "all done." All as clear as day. "No" has been a favorite of yours for a while now - usually accompanied by aggressive head shaking, but it's delightful that you've also added "yes" to your repertoire - accompanied by adorable head nodding.
You also have more hair. Finally.
But the biggest change that I'm noticing lately, which brings me back to this whole denial thing, is that you really are more and more becoming less like a baby and more like a kid. You make up silly games. A favorite is you rest your head on the ottoman, Dad and I say, "sleepy Abbey" and you pop up and scream, "ahhh!" Like a little monster. It's frickin' adorable.
Sometimes, I let myself think back to where we all were a year ago. You, still in my belly. Me anxiously awaiting your arrival - big as a house-boat. I had a vague idea of what I expected from you then, my love. But let's be honest here. You have far exceeded my expectations. And you've certainly taught your old Mom a thing or two over the past nearly one year. Keep it up, kiddo.
I love you.