Ceci n'est pas une bebe.

I keep calling her my baby, but look at her-- she's a kid. A kid in vaguely Communist-looking headgear.

We had a fabulous day at the farm yesterday with Ollie and Gus and their parents, but when I asked her about the day as I was putting her to bed, she kept telling me that we went to the park and she got to swing. Not wanting to make a liar out of her, we took her to the park this afternoon. Above, I finally figure out the "sport" setting on my camera in time to snap a photo during a game of "Catch You."

While Nora and I played, Rich flipped her car seat around to make it face forward. Another milestone accomplished. Sorry for the cliche, but it really does seem like just yesterday I was sitting in the back seat with her on our way home from the hospital.

We made a huge deal out of flipping her car seat around, "big-girl style," and Nora's response was satisfyingly gleeful.

Although she seemed to second-guess some of Rich's lane changes.

Was she this sweaty when we left the park, or is this from the car ride?