...just in time for tomorrow, when she turns eight months. Go me.
Our little Lu Lu. She claps, she eats Cheerios and Pao de Queijo (to keep things multicultural). She eats anything really. She grabbed my plate at dinner the other night pulled it right out from in front of me, mid-bite and ate ALL of my rice. There was no stopping her and who am I to get in the way of another woman and her food. She says "ma ma," "da da" and something that sounds like "mo" when she wants more, of course she also signs "more" because, hello, trilingual. She pulls her little, tiny, baby self up to stand in her crib and drags herself on her tummy around the house faster than I walk. She throws things along in front of her squealing all the way and will make it from one end of the house to the other Swiffering the granite floors as she delivers odd Easter eggs and toys to and fro. She.climbs.stairs. It is unreal, of course all babies do this eventually, Pete did it at eight months, but isn't this one supposed to stay my baby forever? She is still 150% in love with Sam and he with her and she and Peter are working things out. Pete has started calling her "My baby girl" and kissing her instead of whacking her in the head much more often. She is still the sparkle to my every day.
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