If I didn't record it here, I doubt we'd recall years from now that on the Sunday of your 59th week you bent down to smell a flower for the first time. We might forget that instead of inhaling, you blew your nose into it, and that you took a big bite on your second try.

Eventually, we'd probably forget that your word for milk was "mook," which made perfect sense. With a single syllable you had us programmed to deliver you the good stuff, pronto. Then, out of nowhere, you stopped saying "mook" in favor of "guh-guh." We have no idea how it started, but my best guess is you're simulating the sound of your own swallowing - you do like to chug it. This isn't a random guess; you recently started pointing to my fingers and saying "kkh," after the sound they make when I crack them. "Fingers, honey. They're fing-gurz." And we're working hard to bring back good ol' mook, lest you create your own world of onomatopoeia.

These are among the little things that tend to be forgotten in time. I figure one day you'll read these little records of your earliest days and, hopefully, get a sense for the adventure the world has been for you, and the journey that you are for us.