You hate tin foil.
You love your reflection.
"Dada" is all you talk about. When you're not babbling up a storm ("Here, kitty kitty" might be next), you're clicking your tongue, mimicking the sound of zerberts and waving to your fans. Hence:
You melt the hearts of ladies everywhere. Young and old.
You had two Christmases this year: one in Old Town, and one in Canada. You were spoiled with Elmos, and a Rockin' Ernie. Your uncle bought you a drum set! We Skyped with Aunt Ashleigh as she were overseas. Justin, Amma and Afi love you. We could have spent the entirety of vacation staring at you.
You sing. Dad and I will belt out matching noises on a similar pitch, in which we are rewarded with big smiles and encores.
You're crawling, and pull yourself up on -- and sometimes over -- furniture.
You still have only two bottom teeth but your ginger-flavoured alfalfa sprouts are growing like mad.
You are beautiful and handsome, but your passport photos are hilarious.
You and I both need to write Feist a thank-you letter. Metals is the best lullaby out there, and her Sesame Street appearance mesmerizes you every time.
You are happy, healthy and so bright. I am proud to be your Mama.
xo
