Maggie is 16 months now. (I meant to write this post weeks ago, when she actually "turned" sixteen months, but life gets in the way!) She is still THE sweetest, most adorable, lovely, friendly baby girl. She's obsessed with her "lovey," and it keeps her occupied after she wakes up in the morning or from a nap. When I go in to get her, she usually has it hanging from her mouth by a corner, and then she'll hold onto the side of the crib and bounce enthusiastically. She also has a stack of books easily reachable from her crib, and she's taken to pulling them into bed for an after-nap read as well. (Jack used to do the same thing at this age.) She says "hi" to every stranger she sees while we're out and about, and half the time they say "hi" back. If they don't respond, she'll repeat herself several times, louder and more insistently. She loves imitating her dog, or other dogs, saying "fff fff fff fff" while bobbing her head. She's super affectionate, often coming up and leaning her head on my back while I'm sitting on the floor to give me a quick hug (that is the BEST). And she's become a little helper like her big sister: if there is anything spilled on the kitchen floor, Maggie hustles to the basket where I keep the washcloths, pulls one out, and goes to wipe up the spill. We're still nursing, but only twice a day, and she's slowly losing interest. Boo hoo. I've been nursing babes and/or pregnant constantly for almost seven years now, so it'll feel weird to be out of that era. I had Brian take this picture of me nursing Maggie the other day to commemorate what I figure will soon be ending in our household.
