Eleven Months. Six teeth. Lightning speed crawling. Standing. Cruising. Climbing. Mama (finally!). Oh. Da-da.
When I was pregnant I assumed Ivy would be my most independent baby simply because she really didn’t have a choice. But I was wrong, so wrong. She is the neediest, fussiest, clingiest of them all. Through her attachment I’ve learned to slow down and take it all in. We are using each other… Which sounds bizarre but we truly do rely on one another for confidence and calmness. On the other side of it, I’ve gotten really good at multi-tasking. Like, cooking dinner and simultaneously feeding a baby or typing right now with Ivy asleep in my arms while also attached half suckling, half drooling milk all over.
Eleven months of her.
I keep wishing time would slow down but also so excited for what more time will bring. She plays hard with her brothers, makes us all laugh, and is loud. Loves dancing, which consists of kneeling and throwing her hands up in the air while bouncing up and down. Usually it’s to one of Sebastian’s songs or kazoo. Food is her thing and wants whatever we are eating, which as the third baby, gets whatever we are eating. Still loves to nurse and I don’t see us stopping any time soon. The fun is starting, we are doing more. I don’t feel as trapped as I did the first six months running around town with three kids. Ivy is figuring it all out, as am I. I like to think that I grow with each kid, and each of them helps spark new growth and interest in myself. She is becoming less of a baby and her personality is getting stronger. I love it. Here’s to one more month of counting weeks, Ivy Scout, so close to 52 of them.