Though you are nine months old and have made only a handful of appearances on this blog, please know that it is not for lack of love, but only for lack of time.
Lack of love for you is certainly not a problem in this household. You are an intensely, jaw-droppingly, sickeningly loveable baby. At first glance, you win everyone over with your giant blue eyes, but, let me tell you, your eyes are just the start of your delectableness. You've got just the right amount of chubbiness and padding. All babies should be modeled after you. Your arms, which I like to show off in sleeveless onesies, are smooth and creamy and and your thighs, my goodness, the delight of those massive thighs.
You are a good-natured little thing 99.9% of the time, content to crawl around and try to insert your chubby self into whatever games are being played by your big sisters. There are resounding shouts of "No, Suke!" all day long as you sidle up and take a game piece or two, or the last piece of an almost finished puzzle and put it straight in your mouth and start crawling furiously away.
Watching you crawl has been the one thing that has brought home the fact that you are made from the same combination of DNA as your sisters. Daddy and I agree that there is nothing about any of you that makes us love you because you biologically belong to us. You could have sprung fully formed from Zeus's head and we would have loved you just because we have gotten to know you as our little Sukie. But when you crawl, there is no denying your genetic tie to your sisters. Your crawling style is part Frankie, right leg back and on the knee the way it should be, but your left leg forward and humping along like a daddy long legs that was stepped on, and part just like your sister Molly,, carrying whatever catches your magpie eye firmly between your gums, like a bone, since your hands are busy.
You are a tremendous eater. At nine months, your big sisters were dutifully strapped in their high chairs a few times a day and tossed a handful of Cheerios and coaxed to eat a portion of squash puree. It was a hobby, a recreational activity to pass the time. They nursed like crazy and nibbled at small slimy squares of strawberries. Not you. You nurse like crazy, too, but you insist on your three square meals. For breakfast, a few muffins and banana, tossed in tiny pieces on your tray and disappearing as fast as I chop them. For lunch, a whole sandwich, a large nectarine, some broccoli, your sisters' leftovers. At dinner, you still have room for two bowls of stuffed shells, impatiently guiding the spoon to your mouth. You don't like peas. That's the only thing I haven't gotten you to consume in large quantities. But you'll eat them in a pinch. Thighs your size don't come without work.
You are my most snuggly baby thus far. You love to have your neck kissed and your eyelids smooched and your belly snuggled. You don't mind if I squeeze you tight and sing looking into your eyes. You are content to sit on my lap and explore my face and insert spit-covered tiny fingers into my mouth searching for my "teeh." You love the cats and yell "KKKKK-y" when you see them. You call Daddy "Da" and say "hi" and try your hand at saying Frankie. You've become a real live baby this month. One we find tremendously amusing and utterly intoxicating.
So, Susannah, if things aren't written here, they are written on my heart, little sweetheart, my favorite baby. We are all so smitten with you.