When Nat was two months old I mentioned how I'd be taking monthly photos of her (as all moms of babies are known to do). I kept her baby blanket and her hair bow consistent, but I dressed her in a favorite outfit from that month/clothing size. For her low-key cupcakes party we threw Sunday, I strung all her monthly photos like a clothesline (original idea again, I know) as one of our few decorations.
Here's a close-up for Nat's monthly photos:
One month old
Two months old
Three months old
Four months old
Five months old
Six months old
Seven months old
Eight months old
Nine months old
Ten months old
Eleven months old
Twelve months old (not taken in time for the party!)
As you can probably relate (or imagine), the monthly photos have become more and more difficult to take. For example, Natalie would rather do this than sit still:
Thankfully, though, she is agreeable enough to let me get a few good, smiling shots.
Now that our child is one year old I can see just how monumentally she has changed in one short year. I look at her and think who is this little person...
who says "good dog" incessantly.
who points at everything, especially her birds on her nursery wall.
who has 10 teeth! Her first-year molars came in one week before her first birthday.
who gives her stuffed animals (and occasionally her parents) kisses.
who brings us books and demands to be read to multiple times a day.
who can not only climb onto her toy box but also (safely) off of it as well.
who initiates games of peek-a-boo.
whose first shoes are in the mail because she took her first steps Monday, two days after her first birthday.
who says "yum, yum" in imitation of me encouraging her to eat.
who dances along to all the music coming out of her many toys.
We're at a really good place right now. In retrospect, the six-month mark really was the roughest patch of her first year. Once she could sit up unassisted life got a lot better. The spit up ended around the ten-month mark. I actually remember the last time she spit up because I was wearing oddly nice clothes for a random afternoon and I thought to myself, "Of course you're spitting up on me because I'm dressed nicely." Thankfully, that was the last time we would face that problem. Finishing breast feeding was also a highly liberating experience, so liberating, in fact, that I celebrated with a girls' weekend in New York sans baby and pump.
The little bit of bad is outweighed by a whole lot of good. Indeed, it has been a very good year.