My oh my.
Emily's back in a funk. And I don't mean she's glued to the couch in some sweat pants eating out of the ice cream carton. Emily in a funk equals "I'm not happy and everyone should know it!" No idea what's up, although I suspect teeth. Because what else when there's no obvious answer?? I would actually be THRILLED if she would grow her two front teeth because she currently has the two outer ones on top, but not the middles. While the vampire look was super for Halloween, it pretty much creeps me out.
She has lots of words and has no problem speaking her mind. Well, I say lots of words. Lots compared to Drew who at this age had approximately zero. The new ones are : down, up (sort of), thank you, shoes, bear, baby, and Drew. Most of the time she says Drew in regards to his juice. "Dew's oosh" is my best phonetic approximation. What it really means is, "I'm about to swipe Drew's juice."
She wants to be held ALL.THE.TIME. Today I bought a crazy fancy baby carrier that allows me to carry her on my hip or on my back. It cost a ridiculous amount of money. But I needed something today. And let me just say that I folded laundry and did the dishes with her on my hip. She was happy and work was getting done. Pretty much worth the insane price right there.
I'm having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that she has mastered the art of the temper tantrum. Isn't she still a baby? Surely a baby would not throw a fit. And yet, the fits are being thrown. Every time it happens it seems weird to me. I don't know why I'm having a hard time grasping the fact that she knows what she wants. But I am. And what she wants right now is golden Oreos. You may not know this about Big Dan, but he goes though what I like to call "food phases". He will eat the same thing for many, many days in a row. And then, he won't eat it again for a long time. Or ever again. Anyway, he's currently in a golden Oreo phase and Emily has been slipped a cookie or two and now she knows the goodness. She threw a full blown screaming, thrashing her arms around fit because she couldn't have a THIRD cookie. Yes, my 13 month old had two golden Oreos. Not even discussing the nutritional issues here, let's discuss the fact that stuff like this hurts her belly. Usually in the dead middle of the night. So. NO THIRD COOKIE. Drama ensues.
I have resorted to trickery and lying. I refer to her milk as "juice" and today I handed her an organic fruit bar and called it a "cookie".
It's a good thing she's cute. What, with her Lyle Lovett hair and her daddy dimple. And her belly laughs. And her surprise face. Oh what the heck...what's one more cookie???