Oh my Lady Katharine. My Katiebear. My Kates. We made it - one year. I was worried you know, about how I'd handle two. I was worried there wasn't enough of me to go around I was worried that somehow our little family dynamic would be changed and upset by the addition of another.
What the hell was I worried about? It's like we were waiting for you!
You, my little grumpy little troll baby from the get-go.
You, my aggressive little miss who has scratched the shit out of both yourself and everyone within your reach.
You, who has managed to wrap everyone in the house around your teeny tiny little finger (including Seamus, who clearly has a soft spot for your cheeky little self).
You, who melts my heart with every belly laugh you give me. You make me work hard for those. The toughest sell I've had to dance for. So when I manage to garner a giggle, it's a triumph.
I couldn't have had two more different girls if I tried. Of course, you're just as clever, charming and gorgeous as your sister. But that's where the similarities end.
Where she is more cautious, you charge in, bull-like in your temperament. Headstrong you both are, yes, but you, are now, and will (likely) always be the louder, more insistent bull in the house (says the alpha bull - yes, I'll concede, you win my dear).
This may also just be a side-effect of your enthusiastic adoration of your older sister. Anything Maddie does, you want to do. Whatever she's eating, you (loudly) insist on sharing. You watch her so closely, wanting to play with whatever she has, whatever she's doing - it's been fun to watch how much sisters can teach each other (already). Patience. Sharing. Learning-absorbing-emulating.
And because of this, you do so many things earlier. Call it second-child syndrome - or is it because you just insist on it? You eat whatever we eat at meals - forget the baby food - that's been passe for a while now. You're climbing stairs. You're taking baths in the big tub. You roam around the backyard and play with whatever you can possibly get your hands on.
You are a one year old going on twelve. The attitude. The opinionated little grunts and screeches. The faces you make when you don't like something (or when you do - the beam is ear-to-ear).
And yet... you are still such my baby. More of a Mumma-suck than I could ever imagine. I love that you love me so much. Only I can snuggle you to happiness when you have your grump on. And when it's time for bed I'm the first one you come looking for, tugging at my leg and give me the "eat eat" sign (yes, this means a bottle in our world).
Ah, the communication - it's amazing how quickly it grows once it starts. Your first word was "tickle tickle" (which is so hilariously random) - but to that repertoire you're added "Dada" (for Daddy), "Mama" (for Mommy), "Duh-Duh" (for doggie), "Ah Dun" (for all done - and this was early! Food, the great motivator), "Hai!" (for hi, duh!), "Dat!" (for that - as in, "what's that?" or "lookit that!"), and "Nuh nuh nuh" (that one's no - every baby's fave). You also know the signs for "more", "eat", "water" and "all done". Oh, and you high five like it's no one's business. (That's kind of a requirement for our house, much to Daddy's dismay)
I can't believe a year has gone by. And soon I head back to work, and you off to daycare. And with that a whole load of new experiences for you to have, without me always by your side. I hate to think of this time ending, and yet, I know you'll be ruling the roost over there within a week, so I don't worry about you. Too much, anyways.
We love you so much my little Katiebear. Your strong-will. Your sloppy open mouth kisses. Your outraged shrieks when dinner isn't on the table fast enough.
All of it. All of you.
Love.
Love,
Mommy
