At birth:
First month:
Second month:
Third month:
Fourth month:
Fifth month:
Sixth month:
Seventh month:
Eighth month:
Notice the tongue. I'm pretty sure it's a God-given clue to her personality.
She's an incredibly sweet baby, as her brother and sister before her. But as noted before, she's also mischievous. And now that she's crawling and standing and cruising, her mischief potential has multiplied exponentially.
You might say, we've widened the cone of uncertainty.
Take the stairs, for example.
No. Really. TAKE THEM. She learned to crawl them a few weeks ago, amidst wild applause from her adoring siblings. And she's fast. Really fast. I can't keep up with her.
Last week, on the first day of school, she and Connor were playing together in a corner of the living room. (Natalie had set up a "house" for Teyla, consisting of the a Fisher-Price toy that looks like a doorway, a bunch of toys and a blanket roof.) Connor came into the kitchen for a snack. I peaked over and saw the baby happily chewing on her toys. I cut up an apple. I looked back toward Teyla. She was gone.
I called her name. "Teyla? Where are you, sweetie?"
I heard a happy shriek in return. It was coming from the stairwell. She was one step from the top.
Be still my heart.
I'm going to be on my toes so much with this one, I might as well invest in ballet shoes.
Another recent development. Teyla has become a foodie.
But like Natalie, Teyla is NOT interested in baby food. She doesn't like the flavor, she doesn't like the texture and -- most of all -- she doesn't want to be fed by anyone other than herself. Since we've been down this road before, we've already ditched the baby food and have opted for soft versions of regular food that Teyla can feed herself.
Breakfast is often toast slices, bananas and Cheerios. Lunch might be pizza crusts, small strips of string cheese, thin apple slices or bites of melon. Dinner is whatever we're eating. So far, she's gobbled up small pieces of fish and chicken, cooked florets of broccoli green beans, mashed potatoes, polenta. And as you'll see soon in my report on the Minnesota State Fair, she LOVES corn on the cob.
She'll really eat just about anything, as long as she is in charge of getting it into her mouth.
Even dirt.
And, as I learned this afternoon, she might even store it, like a chipmunk. I swiped her mouth to remove what I thought was a chewed-up piece of napkin. I discovered a pickle. We'd been done with lunch for an hour.
(Does that mean we're in for a hard, cold winter?)
Her brother and sister continue to adore her. She can do just about anything to them, and they think it's funny. Case in point: Here, she (sweetly) deploys her eye-gouging talons of mayhem, and Connor just smiles.
She loves her Dad. In fact, she's starting to say "da-da-da-da." I don't think it has a meaning yet, but I'm pretty sure that will be her first word.
And me? Well, I'm her Mommy. To her, we are one entity right now. "Me-me-me-me" she babbles when she's sucking my shoulder. She's happy to play with her toys, her siblings or even watch an occasional "Baby Einstein" video. But no matter where I am or what I'm doing -- be it cooking, typing, folding laundry or playing Legos -- it's not long before I feel a little hand on my foot.
And she grabs my leg...
...and pulls herself up...
...and wraps her arms around my calf, like a little koala hanging on to its mommy.
I'm hanging on too, sweet Teyla.
I look forward to your continued adventures.
