She never turned into that roly-poly that fairytale babies are supposed to be, and now on the verge of walking that chance of infant obesity is gone. She's long and lean, and all the more noticeably so now that she's so often vertical. But her cheeks. An ode to her cheeks: L's cheeks are succulent orbs, dew-filled rosy spheres entirely distinct, floating before and beyond the planes of her face. I declare my love for those two balls of fleshy wondrousness.
Those cheeks, she snaps them up and down all day, talking, laughing, figuring out all the noises she can make. She's recently added the hard "K" sound to her repetoire, and she now often sounds like a backyard bird's nest at pre-dawn: coo, caw, coo, caw.
Watching her discover new talents each day would be one of those heart-warming miracle-type sappy-story makers but for that I can't be in the same room as her sometimes. Her latest and greatest: she's discovered those two new top teeth, and simultaneously discovered the joy of scraping them against their bottom partners. Virgin enamel scratch scratch scratch against its mirror image makes my very soul itch and recoil. It is The. Worst. Sound. I just want to grab my favorite santoku knife from the kitchen and slice my eardrums out.