13 months

My daughter is 13 months old today. We are laying together in my bed as I try to convince her to go to sleep. She’s had a bath and smells amazing, her hair that isn’t quite long enough to go into pigtails is fluffy and soft, and she keeps pinching me with her tiny kitten claw fingernails.

I still breastfeed her to sleep even though after her first birthday people seemed to stop being 100% supportive about it and started making noises about bottle feeding, but I don’t want to yet. I love that it soothes her straight away if she’s upset and I love when she falls asleep on me. Right now she is feeding but wiggling her bottom around in the air and breaking off to sing to me in nonsense syllables.

Some of her noises sound like words – she says ‘hiya’ when someone walks into the room, and to get my attention she yells “Ay! Ay!’. My mum and I swear she said ‘where’s Dada?’ the other day and when I went to pick her up early a couple of weeks ago because she was poorly she said ‘mama!’ but hasn’t said it since.

She catches your eye and nods, very dramatically and flamboyantly, and shook her head this morning when I asked for a cuddle.

She screams blue murder if we try to put her in her car seat without a smoothie melt – or as Ian calls them, car bribes.

She adores chocolate and crisps and has an excellent sense of humour, though I wish she didn’t find headbutting me so hilarious.

She started to walk on her own just before her first birthday – literally days before it – and now she’s all over the place. Clambering upstairs, pottering out into the garden, chasing the dogs.

She has all four front teeth through, three bottom ones and three molars.

I love her so much.

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