You are coming into your own, Celia Joy. You are still full of smiles, but new skills and opinions are surfacing every day.
On vacation last week, I rocked you to sleep one afternoon, your damp forehead nestled against my shoulder. I looked at you in the mirror and saw suddenly how big you have become, how your face has matured, how your frame has stretched. Your babyhood is fleeting Celia, slipping away from us daily, and it is both sad and exciting.
You're on the edge of mobility. You've been sitting without support for weeks now. You can roll and scoot your way backwards across the floor. Every day, your ability to stand while holding on to the ottoman or play table increases. You can even pull yourself from sitting to standing in your crib and take wobbly steps across the floor when I hold on to both of your pudgy little hands.
But you want more. I can see it in your searching eyes, hear it in your frustrated cries. You want to be able to do it all yourself, and I see in you echoes of your big sister's determination, her all-consuming desire to "go-go."
You're eating more solid foods now. You love applesauce, sweet potatoes, and avocado and can pop frozen peas and sweet potato puffs into your mouth with ease. You love gulping water from the sippy cup you can hold yourself.
You can clap and wave, and you're playing with sounds. You especially love saying "da-da," and I think you might know what it means. I've only heard you say "ma-ma" once, which makes me a bit sad, until you are in your crib at 5:30 a.m. saying "da-da" and I get to roll over and tell your Daddy you are calling for him.
Your demeanor is still pleasant, characterized by joy, but you are no longer passively watching the world go by. You are finding your voice, pulling and grabbing your way into the world, into the little universe of our family. We will miss your sweet, snuggly days, but we look forward to knowing more of you, to the ways our family will grow through the gift of your emerging personality.