The Double-Digit Blues

That's right my friends, my wittle-bitty-bay-pee is 10 months old today. 305 days or so. Roughly 7320 hours. A whopping 439200 minutes, give or take.

Alright, I'll put the calculator away (you know I didn't do that crap in my head). It seems like just yesterday, she was laying on her playmat, fascinated by a purple kitty, unable to make her pudgy little hands grasp it's stubby tail. She couldn't roll, she pooped all over her clothes twice a day, she nursed for hours at a time. She had a big bald spot on the back of her head, her eyebrows were blond, and when she cried, you could only see gums. Sigh.

Just look at her now:

It's like she's not even a baby. She's just a very short person with fat thighs and a speech impediment. She's clumsy, she drools, and her clothes rarely match. Sure, she has bladder control issues, she's a messy eater, and she still lives with her parents, but who doesn't know someone like that? You probably went to high school with at least three people who fit that criteria.

I feel like I didn't take enough pictures these past 10 months. I mean, the camera has practically been glued to my hand, but I still feel like I missed so many important things. I need to set a video camera to record all day and all night. That should almost be enough.

I sang Happy Birthday this morning (for the 11th time), and we spent the day with Grammy and Pappy. It was a beautiful day for a ten month birthday.

I'm gonna go weep/scream/throw.a.hiss.fit. cry like the frickin' baby that my baby isn't now.

*I could watch that baby walk down a hallway for hours (it would probably take that long anyways). She's so damn cute. I just can't stand it.