A year ago, Penelope was born, and--let's face it--she was a lump. A really cute lump, with a good head of hair (that soon fell out) and a sweet face, but a lump, comparatively.
Before going to bed last night, on her first birthday, we watched some videos of her as a baby: a couple of days old; a couple of weeks old; a couple of months old. Pen's fascinated by watching herself. Since she was only a couple months old, I've been adding photos to an iPhoto slideshow that I play for her when she gets fussy, so much so that she now associates the song I play along with it (Maxwell's version of Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work") with the slideshow, and upon hearing the first couple of notes, she rushes over to my computer to watch, smiling and shaking her head inexplicably, as if she can't believe how little she used to be.
The other day, Pen hid the keys, and I couldn't find them for forty-five minutes. Then I asked Pen (again) where the keys were, and she led me to a drawer in the kitchen--where we store the measuring cups, which she loves to play with--opened the drawer, and walked away. And, of course, the keys were in the drawer. It was as if she'd gotten bored of the game, and she wanted to move on to something else.
Happy first birthday, Penelope! A year ago, you were a lump; now, you're the most incredible person I've ever met.