When it rains, it pours. And crawls. And bites. And drinks from a bottle.

A downpour of daughtery development.
Any idiot knows not to turn one's back on a baby for too long (well almost any idiot - I'm talking to you, crazy lady with a pram who stopped in the middle of the road to scream at your smackie boyfriend yesterday. Aaaaah, Woy Woy...). This week at our house, every blink threatened to be an opportunity to miss a major milestone of Amelia's. A quick recap:

Thursday: Tooth Number One made an appearance. Not without two nights of announcements, mind.

Saturday: Proper, forwards, tummy-off-the-floor crawling happened. And, in the not-worth-doing-unless-you've-got-an-audience style of her mother, the gorgeous wee thing waited until no fewer than thirteen members of her extended family were standing around the lounge room having pre-Chrissy afternoon tea.

Monday: She. Drank. Formula. For the first time. After three months of trying. Almost a whole bottle. Her eyes rolled back with drunken pleasure and everything.

[internal monologue]
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don't be a fluke. Please be the start of something. Please let me join the ranks of People Who Hire Babysitters And Think It's Normal. Please don't stay on the boob until you're two.
[/internal monologue]

Anyway, I am once again a proud, excited, lucky Mummy. At this rate she'll be sneaking rocket fuel out of the house and coming home in a divvy van by Easter.

Now, in the interest of impartiality, I should also mention that Mitchell correctly identified a hexagon today. With only a smidge of brainwashi... erm... training.