I have been entirely too gloom and doom lately about my daughter's development or lack thereof.
Julianna is doing great. Over the weekend she learned to play peekaboo and scoot herself backward on the Pergo, and last night at dinner she nonchalantly popped a piece of chicken into her mouth while we weren't paying attention. Stinker, she knows exactly what to do, she just doesn't want to do it yet!
Yes, dear heart, you are a stinker. But I love you madly anyway.
P.S. In "Dear Annie" two nights ago, Christian found a letter from somebody who was uncomfortable around a customer with a "mental disability." "Annie" told them that his touchy-feely flirting was part of his "illness." Christian just about went through the roof. I told him it wasn't worth writing to them about, anyway. But now I'm wondering.
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