February 4, 2015

White Dog looked at the calendar. "The baby is seven months old today," she pointed out. It is hard for me to remember Zsofia's tender age. She is so much bigger than most of the others. And, truth be told, she IS pretty mature for only entering the world last Fourth of July.

On one hand she blithely leaps from standing still over (and clears) the Big Boys as gracefully as an antelope and on the other she rolls around the floor wrestling with Sachi, our smallest boy, making noises that sound possessed and making fierce faces. She knows, most times, not to press Taiko and to respect Puff's age. But the Baby is still full of childish mischief like stealing Yo's toy or shredding sticks on the living room carpet.

A big black and white head landed in my lap as WD and I were remembering the pup that once fit in Sachi's car carrier but who know requires a suite-sized kennel for a bed.

"You guys are talking about me, right?" Zsofia asked. "Is today my birthday?"

WD tried to explain that babies get to have extra celebrations and when she was older she would only celebrate once a year. "Well, that will kind of suck." "EXCUSE ME? Where are you picking p THAT kind of language?" "I meant it won't be as much fun."

"Yes, Itty Bitty Baby Girl, today you are seven months old. You still amaze me every day by your growth and changes."

"Are we going to have a party," she asked. WD looked at me. "We might have something special for dinner," I suggested. "Tacos?" "Ok, but chicken ones and you have to eat the lettuce as well." "WOO! WOO!" WD smiled and the entire WDA wagged approval at the thought of tacos for dinner.

"And momma?" "Yes, Baby Girl?" "Can I wear a tiara? It IS MY day?" I looked at White Dog, "WHERE does she get these ideas," I asked.

WD laughed as Miss Z decided that wearing a tiara WASN'T all she had imagined it to be.