One year? Really?
I would like to recommend to anyone out there thinking about having a baby… having one 4 days before Christmas is a challenge. At least around here this year, Christmas and her birthday and New Years all flew by in a weird hazy blur. It might also be having a one year old who is cutting 4 molars at once, trying to walk everywhere and demanding your attention and her way at.all.times.
Peanut, you are one year old. You are a toddler, wild and crazy, and the perfect addition to our family, the completion of our fearsome foursome. Heck, these days you put the fearsome in that phrase. You are talking up a storm and desperately trying to walk everywhere. Except when you’re not, and you demand to be picked up, throwing yourself against our legs and yelling UP UP UP UP… and screeching like a pterodactyl if you don’t get your way.
You are… different than your brother to say the least.
You are opinionated and strong willed. Foods that pleased you at breakfast are treated with disdain at lunch and hurled against the wall. But yet you will scream THAT THAT at those same foods at dinner and demand I put them on the plate. And then take a bite and chuck them again.
You are a hurricane. You get into everything, climb things, try to stick your fingers in sockets and empty every cabinet/basket you can get your hands on. Needless to say I usually get to the end of the day, once you guys are are sleeping, and look around, shocked at what happened to the house. There is food on the walls, cabinet doors opened, every plastic container, bottle or cup, strewn about the kitchen with reckless abandon. It’s truly like a hurricane hit. (Check out the hashtag #hurricanepeanut on instagram and you’ll see what I mean… it’s impressive.)
Even with all the madness you are our girl. You wake up in the morning yelling for Daddy, then Drew Drew, THEN Mommy. You hear a dog bark in the distance and say hi. You see people in the store and say Hi. You hear Daddy on the phone and say HI HI HI HI Dada. It’s pretty damn cute and your Daddy is effed. Like totally and completely screwed. I suggest you ask for a car when you turn 16… or a pony at some point. Because that guy is WRAPPED around that little tiny finger of yours.
With that gigantic attitude has finally come some heft to back it up. You eat everything in sight, still could care less about the milk, but have packed on the pounds like a champ. But sadly, not the inches. You are still my teeny tiny peanut at 8% for height but are crushing it at 40% for weight. My little roly poly *grin*. The worst part is that your feet are so small that even though you are starting to walk, we can’t find walking shoes small enough to fit your feet. It’s crazy but you are probably going to be 4 feet tall… which is ok, but where did THAT come from???
But no matter how tall you are, or how much you adore your big brother and family, or how screechy you can be when you don’t get your way… you are our Peanut. The perfect addition to our family of four. The foil to your brother’s anal retentiveness and the kryptonite to your Daddy’s stern demeanor. The girl who looks at me, lays her head on my shoulder, gives me hugs and kisses and knows that she completely owns us.
You have rocked our world.
Happy First Birthday Peanut!! We love you!