And after one hour more 'twill be eleven. And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe...

Today, my little pickle-eating friend, today you are eleven months old.

There are days where you are so utterly charming, and I am so in love with you and I feel like time is fleeting.

I just revel in being your mama.

And there are days like yesterday where everything is a whiny whiny drama trauma.

Dad calls those days "challenging" - whereas I call those the "only child" days.

Meaning, keep this up, buddy, and you're definitely going to be an only child. Which means you're more likely to be a serial killer, according to some article I read on the Internet.

And nobody wants that, do they?

I doubt it's true. But it's a good threat, don't you think? And better than stabbing myself in the ears.

But back to the positive.

This has been a huge month for you. Huge!

We had a houseful of guests over 4th of July. You could barely sleep, you were so excited. You fell in love with Kelli. I knew it was love when you crawled in her lap and wanted some of her cereal.

And then, then last weekend, we went on a trip! You played with big kids! You slept in a closet! You swam in a big pool!

We discovered that you love ice cream sandwiches, ham and cheese omelets, and dill pickles.

You can crawl with astounding alacrity. And you stand up and sit down with a great deal of dexterity. You've learned how to go up and get down one stair. It's only a matter of time with the rest.

Once you really started moving, you lost interest in talking. But recently you've added things like "Gak!" to your vocabulary. You and Dad go back and forth with the "gak!" "Gak!" "GAK!"

At which point I generally ask him, the English-speaking adult, to use real words with you.

We've put up a number of baby gates, and you definitely notice the lack of freedom.

Sometimes you stand at them, shaking the bars. We're in the room with you, so it's not like you're trying to get to us.

I'm pretty sure it's more that you're all, "They may take my life, but they can't take my freeeeeedom!"

(Unfortunately, however, when you're a little older, I'm going to have to break it to you: Mel Gibson is a douchebag.)

We all love you like crazy, and you're the best thing in our world.

Even if your poo does make me retch once in a while.

Love love love,

Mama