Whenever people ask how old she is and I tell them "9 months," they always respond with, "That's such a fun age!" They all seem to have different ideas about when it gets less fun, but at least the greatness of 9 months is universally acknowledged.
As I write this, Mollie is studiously reading a book upside-down (ok, just patting it obsessively), crawling after Darcy and laughing when she prances away, and staging sneak attacks on the lower shelves of our bookshelves. When you say "No, Mollie!" as she pulls a massive compendium of Churchill toward her, she whips her head around with worried eyebrows, waits two beats, then flashes you the cheekiest grin you could imagine. I've taken to fake-coughing to cover my laughs...discipline's going to be a real breeze with this one.
For a brief day or two before she learned how to pinch her sweet potato puffs between her fingers, she would chase them around her tray using only her two index fingers - basically like trying to use chopsticks in two different hands. It's a testament to how good my life is right now that my biggest current regret is not getting that on film before she learned otherwise (it seems like every parent has one of these very specific stories/regrets).
She's wildly affectionate (especially when we're on FaceTime for some reason...as soon as we start chatting with Mom she violently grabs my face and starts kissing me!), starts dancing when you say "bath time," does ankle rolls almost the whole time she's in her stroller, and reserves her smiles for dogs (while staring down their owners). Basically, she's still our sweet and feisty Mollie-girl.
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