Today we celebrate 8 months of Lola girl.
That's 35 weeks. Or 244 days. Or 5856 hours. Or 351,360 minutes. Or 21,081,600 seconds... and counting.
Whoa, that's a lot of seconds.
A few thousand seconds before that, I looked a little something like this:
Reece looked a little something like this:
And then 9:10 a.m.on the morning of August 12, 2009 arrived. The pregnancy clock stopped, time flew back to zero seconds, and we met her:
And now here I sit, approximately 21,081,600 seconds later, knowing there have never been 21,081,600 more meaningful seconds in my entire existence. And that's counting the two years I worked at Great Harvest and ate all the hot, free bread I wanted.
It's no secret why the last 21,081,600 seconds have rocked my world.
At 8 months, our Lola girl has discovered her personality... with a bang. There's no denying she's a drama queen. The title "diva" has been thrown casually around the apartment more than once. But that's just when her parents are around. She's hilarious, smart, sweet, perceptive, flirtatious and fun.
At 8 months, our Lola girl can put food in her own mouth. So much for portion control.
At 8 months, our Lola girl recognizes and reaches for "her people." Some days (or seconds) she's a Mama's girl. Other days (or seconds) she's all Daddy's. But she is always, always in love with her grandmas.
At 8 months, our Lola girl rolls on command, scoots when she feels like it and has even gone up on her knees several times, only to collapse with utter disinterest. Though she tolerates tummy time, she thinks it's about sleeping, not crawling.
At 8 months, our Lola girl opens and closes her fist to bid farewell.
At 8 months, our Lola girl insists on sitting up in her carseat until her little neck gives out from the strain.
At 8 months, our Lola girl sings at the top of her lungs whenever she hears music.
At 8 months, our Lola girl likes to stand up, as long as she knows she has securely latched her fingernails into Mama or Daddy for safety.
At 8 months, our Lola girl thinks she's hilarious. No one can crack her up better than herself.
At 8 months, our Lola girl is a chatterbox. Mama, Dada, Baba, Nana, No No No, Babbo, Papa, Bye Bye... all included in her repertoire. Impressed? I am. It makes up for the fact she's still not crawling. I like to think she's an intellectual, not an athlete.
At 8 months, Lola has discovered a love for objects not designed nor recommended for children. Pearl necklaces, TV remotes, knives, pens, paper, plastic bags -- all potentially lethal to an infant, all fascinating to Lola. I think I can see a few gray hairs on my head already.
At 8 months, Lola has found her inner flexibility. For awhile there, Reece and I were certain she had inherited our lack of stretch. But now she can suck on her own toes just fine. Thank heavens for that. Cirque du Soleil, here we come.
Cue the cheesy ramblings.
My baby is the most fascinating person I have ever met. She is so sweet, so hilarious, so innocent, so perfect -- I am completely awestruck when I consider the fact she's mine. I adore her, and I selfishly adore the fact that she adores me. I just hope she keeps adoring me forever, though I'm nearly certain that adoration turns to annoyance around age 13.
Happy 8 months to my Lo bird, my girlfriend, my little bites, my bubba, my binks, my monkey, my darlin'.
You sure have your parents whooped.