Dear Ruby,
You turned 11 months old yesterday. That is only one measly month away from being one year old, but let's not dwell on that. I'm without my giant box of kleenex at the moment.
This is you coming through the tunnel of a play structure at the museum. You crawl up the stairs yourself, go through the tunnel and slide down the slide, face first. You just do it, no worries and not a glance to see if I'm around. I like that about you, even if it ages me considerably.
Oma took that picture. She and Opa were here for awhile this month and you all got to know each other really well. Now they know a little bit about what we do day to day. We like that.
Here you are, being exceptionally sweet with your dad. We had just come from the playground and you were tuckered.
This is us at the playground. This is morbid, but I told your dad that he needs to take a lot of pictures of us together in case I die. I'm fine, really, but I was reading about people who lost parents young and more than anything, they wished that there were more pictures of them together. So I'm working on my hatred of having my picture taken. For you.
(Send your therapist here if she has any questions.)
New things: Walking! You started walking at ten months, for the record. Subsequently, your dancing has evolved. It now includes fancy footwork, rocking side to side and shimmying.
Also, the rug in this photo is actually very clean. As it is always. Carry on.
We love you, you funny, sweet baby,
Mama
