As of Tuesday, Ivy is nine months old. Depending on how I look at her, she's either the biggest of little babies, or the tiniest big girl ever.
(ED: That light blue T-shirt isn't Ivy's only top. She wears it often, though because it has Hello Kitty on it and ever since Westley learned about Hello Kitty through the preschool licensed-character-melting-pot, he's been
crazy about Hello Kitty. So, yes, sometimes I dress Ivy to amuse her brother.)
She will happily eat leaves off the ground, but food off of her highchair tray? Thanks, but no thanks. Purees seem especially offensive. If I offer Ivy a spoonful of something, she scowls and turns away. Sometimes she makes a game out of it. She grabs the spoon out of my hand, flips it over and proceeds to teethe on the handle end. I keep hoping to find some food that will entice her enough to get the solid-food-eating ball rolling, but no real luck so far. Sweet potatoes and zucchini were all right for a while, but now Ivy would much prefer handfuls of food off my plate. Which she immediately throws on the floor. But moss from the lawn?
Always delicious.
I think some of the disinterest in solids has to do with how much this girl still breastfeeds. Sometimes I feel like we're back in those early days of never-ending nursing sessions. Except there are many more interruptions as Ivy pops off to flip over, look around, try to sit up in my lap...and then fuss because she wasn't really done with her meal.
Her eyes are greenish in certain lights, but it looks like they'll probably settle on brown. Her hair is light, light brown. It will almost certainly be curly.
For the most part, Ivy continues to be a happy little social butterfly. She comes with me to my physical therapy appointments, where she has the reception staff eating out of her hand. She waves hello and good-bye, claps, and reaches out to give hugs. I can't just hand her off to a friendly adult anymore, though. A switch flipped a couple days ago, and we're starting to see a little bit of stranger anxiety, even around people she knows well. Her tears don't last long, though.
The only things that
really upset her are being tired, getting her diaper changed, and the fact that Westley refuses to let her into his room.
Ivy loves to talk. She can carry on a long conversation in babble, and she also says a few words already. Her first word was "baby." She says "Weh," for Westley and "Daddy," clear as a bell. "Yay" for yay. "Ee-vee," which I'm pretty sure is Ivy. And "Beee!" for big, as in
How big is Ivy?...Sooooo big!
And she is so big.
Except when she's tiny.
Happy 3/4 birthday, chickadee.
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