Welcome to the Palindrome!

Happy Double Ones! Today, you turned 11 months old. You have become quite adept at using your TEK 911 police mobile unit as a walker and despite the obnoxious sirens and nasally mid-western voice of "Mommy" that blasts from the infernal contraption (padding and duct tape have only minimally reduced the decibles), you seem to favor it above all other toys. You can make your way confidently across the room and upon hearing praise ("Good job, Zibou Sisou!"), you immediately stop in your tracks, plop yourself down, and applaud yourself. The cuteness of it all almost overwhelms me.

Although you are capable of standing on your own - I've seen you do it when you were so distracted that you didn't notice that both hands were on the toy instead of one hand on the toy and one hand on the couch/chair/my leg/my face) - you still don't feel comfortable going it alone. Your other favorite toys (both favorites) are a collection of bright plastic geometric shapes that all turn into piercing arrows when it is dim and we are walking around shoeless.

We had a rough couple of weeks when you were hit with a triple-whammy of (1) a stomach virus, (2) a cold, and (3) teething. You slept badly, had no appetite, and were not your usual playful self. As much as I enjoyed your uncharacteristic cuddliness (usually, you are too macho to want to snuggle with us), I felt badly about your condition and only wished that I could suffer for you so you would not have to. Alas, only the first part of that wish came true - I did get to suffer alongside you when you shared your cold with me. Luckily, we seem to be pretty much out of the woods now and as soon as this annoyingly clingy winter passes and summer comes to town, we'll be able to enjoy some more outside time.

You are still a big fan of Cheerios but lately you have been less than thrilled to eat anything else. Each descent into the high-chair is met with shrieks and tears until the first taste of something sweet. Then, you reluctantly eat your food but after halfway, you push the spoon away and/or act like you are gagging and it's just not good times. Once you are released, you excitedly make a lap around the family room before settling down and playing with someone's toes.

Um, sorry about that homemade haircut, me love. I promise, it was not my attempt to make you look like Jim Carrey in "Dumb and Dumber." I was just trying to get the hair out of your eyes. Instead, I replaced your baby wisps with a jacked up bowl. Then, after much reprimand from TP and LB, we took you to a professional to minimize the damage. You were fantastic at the salon and did not make a single peep while the Hispanic woman buzzed you. Now, like many a Pakistani baby, you are sporting a severe military haircut. Apologies, G.I. Zoo. Hopefully, it will grow out by the time your one-year birthday rolls around. Regardless, you are still super duper, A number one, hard-core adorable to me.