Miss Ellie, you are seventeen months old. In case your tiny size and lack of upright mobility cause anyone to doubt your age, you've taken to showing your true toddler colors.
You empty the diaper bag in 20 seconds flat.
If you choose not to eat something, you throw it down violently.
You seem to be actively seeking out new ways to get in trouble. You have an adorable evil grin warning us when trouble is brewing.
You also are finally getting the hang of "sharing," when you want to. You like to take your baby's bottle and share it with your octopus and most recently, with me. Yum! Fake milk from a plastic bottle!
|You're signing "bus." And saying "bus."|
Read food is exempt from your new "sharing" talent. Last night, I asked for your cracker, and although you placed it in my hand, you snatched it back quickly. When Daddy asked, you got wise and ran away.
Skills-wise, you are cruising between pieces of furniture, pulling up to a stand on everything and everyone (including your highchair), using more words and signs, and showing the beginnings of pretend play.
Most importantly, you are loved. We were so worried when you got sick, and although you're still not quite 100 percent better, we're regaining some peace. In three weeks, we will celebrate your first heart-day, and to look back at a year ago and your preparation for surgery, I cannot believe how far you've come. More about that for your heart day celebration.
For now, happy seventeen months! We love you!