is one year old.

Right now. One year ago, now, our bitty baby Isla was born.

We love her.

Happy 1st birthday, sweet Isla.

cuter and cuter

by the moment. She's cute when she crawls, especially as she performs her crab-crawl over any surface she doesn't want her knees to touch. There is a kind of funny-every-time comedy that happens to all of us as she plants her feet flat and lifts her bum high on anything harder than carpet.

She's cute when she 'walks', cruising around the couch or the table or pushing her little green walker toy around the living room or sliding along the window, leaving tiny and sticky little hand prints and tongue prints along the glass.

She's cute when she climbs up on her sister's art box, or when she finally manages to get into the child-size rocking chair that used to belong to her dadoo, or when she balances her way into her carseat, the same carseat, mind you, that she abhors any other time of life.

She's cute when she sings back to her sister and when she laughs at all of us and when she gurgles at the cat. She's cute when she dances to her own music on the kitty-cat piano, and when she waves bye-bye (a recent skill) and when she clears her throat to get us to notice she's ready to play "where's Isla?".

She's even cute when she fights going to sleep, rubbing her eyes with her tiny fists, grunting at herself to say awake, pushing her small eyes back open when they start to close.

She is not, however, at the same level of cuteness around three a.m. when she wakes up screaming and refuses to sleep until she's fed. Again. And Again. And A.Gain.

But other than that, yeah, she's pretty much cuter and cuter and cuter by the second. Here she is being cuter and even cuter while she waits patiently for some lunch.