Happy Birthday Olive.  You learned to walk on your eleventh monthday, a day after you saw your friend Autumn do it.  Inspired by cosmetics, you carried a make-up brush back to your sister’s make-up case, put it away (approximately) and grabbed the blush.  Since then, you have swapped one item for the next, always carrying it long enough to determine its edibility, and then abandoning it.  Here you are transporting my inedible iphone 4S into the dining room to rearrange my icons and send gobbletext to your peeps.  Never stop, Olive.  We love you, even if we can’t catch you.

Olive, I took this from our hospital room the day you were born.  It’s “film”.  I’ll explain later.

So, you were born with a little bit of hair, but not much of it was on your head.  And to add insult to injury, a fair amount of it fell out in your first couple of weeks, including your eyebrow hair which disappeared completely.  But in the past month, the eyebrows have come back with a vengeance.  Mom says they look like Grandpa Restaino’s.  Your whole head sort of resembles Grandpa’s, actually.  

Anyhow, good news: the hair is starting to fill back in, and in fact I can’t really discern a hairline at all in front.  Your hair wants to grow in all the way on down to your eyebrows.  Which would be… unusual.  But then, so is your shoulder hair.  And your back hair.

You may want to delete this post when you get older.

Olive, we’ve gone out to dinner each of the past two nights.  Last night, you, mommy, and aunt Pei went to Tacolicious, which recently opened on Valencia, and tonight, we went to Olea.  Per usual, you slept in the burrito on the way there.  Per usual, you woke up once we got there.  Per usual, other patrons oooed and aahed when mommy sat you on the table.  Per usual, you sat wide-eyed and alert, taking it all in.  Per usual, you smiled and sometimes (this is new) squealed when mom or I moved close to chat with you.  Per usual, uncle Gabe liked your cold cheeks.  Per usual, dinner was perfect.  Per usual, so were you. 

Olive… you love going out.  You are a city girl.

Olive, you have perfect ears.

This is your big sister holding you and not letting you go.  She does the same thing to the cats.  But unlike the cats, you don’t hide under the bed or scurry into the coat closet when you hear her coming.