No, I'm not exaggerating...

Dropped our little giraffe off at day care this morning, she definitely looked quite cute. And I think she enjoyed the new experience of "snow" (cold slush mixed with rain) on our brief walk from the car to the building.

Did I mention she's been trying to stand up/walk? Yep, I'm not exaggerating.

Here she is, modeling her kitty cat hat, and her early Christmas present jungle gym Daddy made. I had some time before my car pool came, so I enjoyed spending a little time with her exploring the toys at day care. She bee-lined for the legs of a high chair and pulled herself up. One of the father's dropping off his kids asked, "How old is she?" I said "6.5 months" after a disbelieving pause he said "Oh boy, are you in trouble."  Trouble? Yes probably. Do I know that? Yes. Do I understand what that means? No clue. What could a 6.5 month old possibly want to get into that walking offers versus a 14 month old? Thankfully, she's still a bit too short to climb up the stairs, although she discovered them this weekend.

At marriage counseling, we speculated on what our first born would be like since Brian and I are both first borns, and unintentionally would have unspoken expectations of our first born. She's unlike anything we could ever have anticipated. One of the managers at day care said all of the parents always comment on her (oh to be a fly on the wall during these conversations), mostly because she never stops moving, and she wanted to know what I do at home? I said, "Try to keep up." The beauty of it is she never stops moving so she wears herself out. I mostly make sure she's not getting into something dangerous, hitting her head, and if all else fails, read a book.