Riis is talking talking talking now. Her words aren't fully formed, but they're distinct. "Cook-ie" is still her favorite, but she also says "car," ("dada cah" for the Cadillac), "mouth" ("mouf"), "nose," "Cole," (She loves to point to his sippy of milk when I pull it out of the fridge in the morning and announce "Cole," just so I know the bottle is hers.) "Turbo," ("Tu-bo"), "down," (never heard her say this quietly; it's always a shriek from her high chair), "baby" (she spots them on television and coos, "Hi, bay-bee!") and "'Tato," which is short for Mr. Potato Head, her absolute favorite toy right now.
Just in the last few days, she's added a ton more, so soon this game won't be fun anymore. She's been really fun lately, just a bundle of wild energy. She still sort of stomps when she walks, these funny heavy baby steps with her adorable fat little feet, so you can hear them wherever she goes, "thwap, thwap, thwap." She follows orders (if she's feeling like it), so this morning she obligingly went to "go wake up daddy" when I asked her to.
Below: Doesn't she look like a baby in a barrel? I remember buying these overalls for Cole, and when I found them in a box last week, couldn't figure out why I hadn't dressed him in them more. Now I know--they're absurd, like circus absurd.
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Here's our ladder-climbing Iron Man:
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