Milo is eleven months old. He is weary of being toted around and has decided to make some efforts towards mobility. He kind of rolls over now. He still thinks tummy time is a sick joke. He's taking a lot of wobbly steps holding on to our hands. Peek a boo is still a hit. He cannot resist pulling Lucy's hair whenever she is in arms reach.
He can eat food from a pouch like the rest of this first world generation. He's also really fond of ritz crackers, rice, pasta, hot dogs, cauliflower, bananas, avocados, beans and potatoes.
He has the most beautiful hair and the most beautiful eyes, but I still can't tell you what color either are.
He can say Mama and Dada and has words for dog, hot and stop. He makes the sweetest little grabby hands when he wants to be picked up.
Love him so much it hurts.