All the boys think she's a spy...

My firstborn. The big girl. The first to call me mama. If you’ve read my previous posts, then you know that I refer to this child as Bette since we are quite sure that she is Bette Davis re-incarnated. She was a perfect infant, what with the sleeping through the night and what-not. She cooed and cuddled like she was auditioning for a Gerber commercial.


In the time between 9 months and 5 minutes ago, her manager decided she should work on some method acting and choose the drama and horror genres. My sweet baby morphed into Bette Davis. Think “What Ever happened to Baby Jane” dramatics in a onesie. Or bad Shakespearian community acting. To the unknowing public, she was the epitome of innocent cuteness.


See this?












And this.



















Those pictures are full of smooshy goodness and sweet enough to slap between two pieces of white bread and gobble up. Don’t let that face fool you. It quickly turns to this without provocation.

This face is accompanied with wailing, flailing, and lamenting.







This is actually quite entertaining. Until it’s not. My Bette has always worn her heart on her sleeve and spoke her mind regardless of the situation. I admire this about my child. It really makes me quite proud. She will never cower to adversity. She will never let someone infringe upon her rights. She will stand up for what she believes. She will drive me and others nuts. Good for her.

(Note to the first-born…if you ever read this, I love you more than words can say. Now please be quiet.)