I’d better hurry up and write this before my fleeting memory fully escapes me. We’ve already blown right through your 13th month and are well in to your 14th. This age, 1-year old, is the best! I’m eating it up and loving every minute.

You are such a happy, agreeable, playful baby! How did we get so lucky? Even when you are “at your worst” I rarely threaten to abandon you and/or give you away. Your worst really isn’t that bad. I haven’t ever seen a tantrum, although a few of your dramatic crying fits were teetering on the edge.

Your vocabulary is just exploding! You’ll repeat nearly anything we say, and if you can’t quite grasp it you’ll “hum” the syllable cadence. Your first color is yellow, which surprisingly comes out very clear, something like “yeh-yo.” You can identify several body parts, calling them by name, including eyes, elbows, knees, ears, and hair. Water, crackers and bottle are the only foods you call by name, although you’re working hard on bagel, the staple of your morning routine. But “Eat!” you’ve gone down pat. You usually belligerently scream it at us.

I am loving watching your imagination grow. It’s amazing to me that at such a young age you’re already pretending, without any guidance whatsoever on the concept. You say “nigh nigh day-dee” when you pretend to put your baby (a Curious George doll) to sleep, and pound its poor back, trying to gently pat it. You have a tea pot set and you’ll bring the cups to me to fill each one, and then take it to daddy and you’ll each slurp up the invisible beverage; you’ll also have me pour the spout right in your mouth and you always go “Mmmm!”.

You’ve found a few of your very own hidey holes. One is behind a chair next to the wall, and you’ll stand in the apex of the V between the two, poke your face as far through as possible and wait for our faces to appear on the other side. You also like to crawl under the end table where we store your toy basket in the living room and sit cross-legged playing with your piano, dolls, books, or whatever else is under there.

Time outs have become a more regular occurrence, but you’re honestly so well behaved and that they are rarely put in to action. You fully understand what they are, and when you tell me “no no” to a request more than twice I ask “do you want to go to time out?” and you generally correct yourself. When you don’t, it’s off to the corner we go. It’s hard as hell not to laugh! Correction, it’s hard as hell not to let you see me laughing. It’s equally the funniest and most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever witnessed. You will throw your head back and wail, screaming “maaamaaaaa,” with big alligator tears streaming down your face, and ever few seconds you’ll inch further and further away from the corner. I always ask you to come to me so we can discuss what happen, and finish it with a kiss.

You’re becoming more particular about food. You’re pretty much a vegetarian at this point, refusing any chicken, pork, or beef that I’ve offered you. Once in a while you’ll take me up on a bite of fish, but otherwise it’s fruits, veggies, grains, and vegetarian protein, like black beans, cheese, yogurt, and of course milk. Your love of watermelon knows no bounds, and really the only fruit you’ll turn up your nose at is a banana. If you don’t like something, you very clearly say “no” and shake your head. If you like something, God save the man who gets in your way as your tiny fists shovel food in your mouth as fast as you can. You’ve started showing more interest, and skill, in feeding yourself with a fork or spoon, so daddy and I have tried to be better about ignoring the mess and letting you at it.

We also met up with Paul last month to take your one-year pictures. You were quite the ham for us, being quite the trooper as we made our way around the OU football stadium to take a picture in front of the section 1 sign, and then over to Reaves Park in Norman. However, the cake frosting hit the fan, if you know what I mean, when we attempted to make you take a picture with a birthday cake. You would have thought it was hot lava with a monster face on it the way you reacted. Thirty minutes of non-stop, tear-soaked wailing delivered not a single happy picture but plenty of you having what we’ll chock up to you first full blown panic attack. Seriously kid? It’s cake. If someone forced me to sit next to a double layer cake and devour it without any consequences… I’d cry if you tried to stop me.

I love you bug!

Mama