Happy Eleven Months, Petra!
Your first eleven months have been extremely eventful. After all your laying around for the first four months, you have definitely made up for that idle time during the last seven months.
I am out of breath. I am tired. I am amused. I am confused. I am completely gray!
You have eaten the good stuff... ice cream, cookies, cake, chocolate... along with peas, corn, salmon, tilapia, chicken, carrots, potatoes (any form of spud). Your taste buds are delicate and you have tasted gourmet cuisine. (We even love watching Rachel Ray's mouth-watering creations together.)
So, my question to you, "why do I catch you shoveling handfuls of dirt, cat food and cat litter into your mouth?". You actually savor the taste. You are a daily food connoisseur of trash. I ask you, "how can ice cream possibly compare to dirt?" It is clearly not the same. It cannot even be in a similar delicacy category.
You eat plants, leaves, and sticks. You put every "floor morsel" you find into your mouth. I have pried balls, dolls, letters, plastics, pencils, paper, toilet paper, tissues, napkins, and cat toys from the insides of your cheeks.
Today, I found you fighting over a dead fly with your cat, Winter. Luckily, the cat won!
Tonight, Daddy wanted to know why you were making a funny sounding hiccup. I told him not to worry it was just the gallon of soapy bath water you ingested. Eventually, your suds-cups will cease.
I have witnessed your dislike of guacamole, waffles, pancakes, and broccoli -- it is spewed all over the floor. (We really need a dog for moments like this!) If you can toss delicious syrup-coated pancakes onto the floor, then you should be able to spit out the cat litter, too. How can cat litter taste better than waffles? I wish you had an explanation for me.
I recently paraded you in public donned in a newly purchased adorable smocked Anavini dress. Your cheeks and clothing were peppered with black spots. And, no, you had not been indulging in OREOS. An intruding fellow-shopper informed me how she put her dog bowls out of reach from her toddler. I smiled and announced that I don't even bother moving Petra away from the cat bowls any more ... my cats are happy, how unhealthy could those little kernels be anyhow?
Meanwhile I secretly pray and hope this peculiar eating disorder dissipates at some time during your second year. So, for a limited time only, I will accept your choice of desired food items - if you can accept my squandering your college fund on therapy for me.
