Margot is small for her age.
I've gotten used to saying that everytime someone asks me how old she is.
"Let me guess. Around 7 months, right?" they'll ask, surprised that she's almost a year old.
I say it not because I care that she's small or that it bothers me, but mostly so I don't have to hear about their nephew who's a whopping 20lbs at 6 months.
"I don't know what they feed him but boy he's a giant!"
Little do they know that little Margot, my bright, perennially cheerful daughter could kick that roly poly kid's ass.
Truth be told, I was a little worried that my dainty little flower. with her ridiculously adorable pageant wave, would be in for a rude awakening- also known as her brother Drew.
But then he decided to stick his finger in her face one too many times in the car and she put her mighty choppers to good use.
Apparently she's been flying under the radar, batting her eyelashes, so much so that most people that meet her inevitably ask "is she always like this?"
And yes. She is predictably pleasant.
But this girl is also a little ball of fire, screeching at even the slightest violation of her personal space, enduring shoves, pushes, and tackles with as much gusto as Rudy, and climbing on chairs and tables with no fear.
And while I have yet to figure out how to handle the shopping cart seat surfing, I'm feeling that for the first time that my baby is disappearing.
But God is it lovely.
Happy 1st Birthday, Margot. You are love, sweet sweet love.