Dear Lulu,

There's a thing that people have started to say to me, in the past few weeks, when they see how much you've grown: "She's not a baby anymore. She's a little girl, now."

It's true that you've gotten tall, seemingly overnight. Your scrawny baby legs, which were short and stubby from the moment you came out, have turned into long, sturdy little girl legs. Your hair is longer, and curlier. Yesterday, I put it up in your first, bona fide ponytail.

You've taken your first steps, holding onto the coffee table in one hand and Happy Smurf in the other. You type away at the computer keys whenever we leave our laptops where you can get them, and you have learned to use the Tivo remote to turn the TV on and off. You talked on the phone to Mammaw and Granddude last night. Whatever you were saying didn't appear to be in English, but the way you said it, it sounded important.

You eat big-girl food, now, too: Brussels sprouts, sweet potato, barbacoa beef. We don't have to mash it up as much as we used to. You chew it nice and neatly with your big-girl teeth. And when Dad and I take you to the park, lately, we lay on the grass and set you a ways off from our blanket, like we always do, to see how you will react. And for the first time, you don't immediately crawl back to us. You start off in the opposite direction, ready to explore.

In the face of all this evidence that you are growing and changing so much, I do sometimes feel blue when people comment on how big you're getting. Because it feels like time is passing too quickly, that I'm losing something I'll never get back.

But then you silently remind me that I don't need to worry about it.


Happy 11-month birthday, little girl. I can't wait until next month! We're going to do this shit up right, you know it.

Lots and lots of love, per the usual,

Mama