Today I am one year old. WHAT?! Pretend I wrote this on my actual birthday and not two weeks late. Pulling all the dishtowels out of the kitchen drawers is a huge distraction. You should try it sometime.
I have six teeth and I like to use them to bite my mom, and whatever you happen to be eating. However, I’ve shown surprising restraint when handling books. I don’t eat the corners, or chew them into pieces the way Someone Else I Know used to. Instead, I sit quietly, turning the pages like a normal person, while pretending to read. When I’m not fake reading, I’m pulling the books off the shelves. It should be an Olympic event. I would win every time.
I walk, when I want to. BUT walking is overrated. Crawling is easier and faster. Besides, all I have to do is scoot over to the closest adult, raise my arms, say—“Excuse me, you’re not holding anything and it’s already been two minutes since you put me down in the other room and I just really need to be up there to see what you’re doing and if it involves food that I can eat and can I have some right now please?”—but instead all that comes out is, “edah!” and they pick me up anyway. Mobility problems solved.
I like to get ready with Mom in the morning. We go into the bathroom and she puts on contact lenses while I open Stella’s jewelry drawer and put on all her necklaces.
I love breakfast. I eat it 2 or 3 times a day. First oatmeal. Then pancakes or eggs or toast or muffins or bites from Dad’s cereal bowl or whatever Mom has just made for herself. She sits down to eat and I mosey over and open my mouth. A few bites later, I’ve polished off her whole bagel. It’s a good life.
Laundry and zippers might be my favorite things. I love laundry. Dad folds shirts and pants into neat piles, and when he turns around, I unfold everything and put the underwear on my head. I can’t resist. Those little sock bundles rolled into colorful balls are just asking to be carried off and hidden somewhere in the house. And zippers? Stella has a box of purses that she forgets about—but only until I want to play with them. I can sit for five whole minutes zipping and unzipping zippers whenever I want. My favorite is the unicorn fanny pack because it has two zippers. And because Stella stuffs it with random paraphernalia—Legos, spoons, rocks, plastic food, real food, acorns, pairs of mismatched socks, the Tylenol syringe she smuggled from the bathroom cabinet when she was supposed to be using the potty… You never know what I’ll find in that fanny pack.
Overall, I’m a good peanut. But even I have my limits. Even so, there are only a few things I won’t stand for: brushing teeth, taking pictures, eating beets, sitting in the grass, birthday candles, being handed to a stranger (unless stranger has food), getting my diaper changed, being mistaken for a chair when Stella needs to sit on something, hairclips, being handed to Dad when Mom is standing right next to him empty handed (unless Dad has food), sitting down in church, putting toys away, wearing dresses…
I weigh 20 pounds. No thank you, I do not need to go on a diet.
Mom and Dad are wondering how I’ve managed to survive Stella’s weekly accidental attempts to step on me or smoosh me into the carpet, but I’m still here.
And now, for the cake pictures. I tried to tell Mom that multiple photoshoots were unnecessary. But nobody listens to me, I’m just a baby.