I salted my dinner with tears. Happy-sad tears. I knew it would come. Somewhere in my brain I knew it. But how? How is it that a whole year has gone by since this fuzzy little duckling joined us? How did that little lump turn into a walking, talking, opinionated little jokester of a person? Oh, Blythe Penelope! You are one charming creature, even if you do refuse to wear your hand-made-with-love party hat.
These days Blythe is most likely to be found patrolling the premises on foot, searching for leftovers missed by the broom, grooving to dance music, or relaxing in her high chair being waited on hand and foot, eating almost anything she is offered. She entertains her sisters with her naptime shenanigans (like peek-a-boo games or smashing her goofy little face up against the mesh walls of her play pen, eliciting shrieks of laughter from them and shooshing from me.) She tortures her seatmates on long car rides with her sticky little feet, grabbing their hair with her toes and/or kicking them in the face. I think we've got a bonafide tease on our hands. She periodically bites her mother during her meals and has been known to bite her father during his kisses, always with an impish little half-smile on her face. But notwithstanding her pesky ways, she is darling of the family, doted on endlessly by her big sisters, and pretty much everybody else she encounters!
 |
