Dear Little Bird,

First off, who told you that you could start crawling?  I never gave you permission to do such things.  About a week ago, you just up and decided that it was time to get from here to there using your chubby legs to propel you across your bedroom floor.  Your knees are red from shuffling along on the ground, but the grin of satisfaction is awesome.  You're fast, kid.  I blink and you've scuttled across the room in a blink, aiming to sink your teeth (gums?) into the lamp cord/door jam/cat tail. 

And yeah, we should probably talk about the cats, sweetie.  Here's the deal:  they aren't edible.  They also have claws.  Your desire to scoot over to them and give them a hug isn't good, because their tolerance will not last.  (Also, why do you want to touch their toes?  You are constantly poking Siah in the feet, and she lifts her food and moves it the slightest bit, and then you poke again.  Endless cycle.)  Thankfully, we have one cat who wants to be your buddy:  Siah.  You and Siah are two little nerds who hang out on the bed together and laugh at each other.  (Yes, Siah laughs at her.  It's a silent laugh.  Looks like this.)

You have also figured out how to make your mouth imitate some sounds.  "Baaa baaa" and "daaa daaa" and "maaa maaaa" and some mangled version of what we believe is "kitty."  (Sounds like "kitchy," but you say it every time the cats come wandering into frame, so I'm sticking with my theory.)  But it's another step towards talking, and I can't wait to hear all the thoughts roaming around in your head.

Now that you're crawling, you're also investigating everything.  Including my pump.  If I'm playing on the floor with you, you sometimes drop everything and laser-focus on my hip, where the pump is clipped.  Then you try and press the buttons and grab the tubing and all of a sudden the pump is wailing Fur Elise.   (It's like "HEY!  Elise!")  You also like my meter - the beeps make you excited and twice now you've grabbed the strip from the top before the five second countdown completed.  (And in my head, I think "Cha-ching - one dollar.")  In addition to my insulin pump, you're also pretty excited about the plants in the living room (landscape architect in the making?), the cat food (veterinarian in the making?), and the bathtub (Steve Zissou in the making?).  Basically, you're excited about everything.

This month was a busy one, with your second trip to Florida for the Children with Diabetes Marco Island Family Weekend. Thanks to the constant care of your mom and dad (and also some surrogate snuggles from Uncle Scott), the trip was manageable, but traveling with a baby is hard work.  (See also:  flight delayed, landed five hours behind schedule, luggage didn't make it to our airport, etc etc et-freaking-cetera)  As much as we hate to be away from you, I think you're staying with Grammie next time we travel. But, for the record, you were a good kid on those flights.  You wooed the stewardesses and shared your Happy Baby puffs with everyone within a ten foot radius.  (Those things fly through the air almost effortlessly.  I think the lady sitting behind us had as many in her lap as you did.)

As always, we love you.  We sometimes sneak in while you're sleeping at night and we stand over your crib, marveling at how big you're getting and how old you are already and how much we can't even begin to remember what life was like before you and all your stuff moved in.  You make our world a better place, Birdzone. 

Now please, for crying out loud, stop biting the cats.

Love always,
Mommy