Dear Kate,

To start this month's letter, I have to break some unpleasant news to you: We here in the Wachdorf house cannot dance. It's true. Your dad and I are both kind of tall and gawky, and I learned a while ago, although unfortunately not before college, that if the Lord wanted tall, clumsy people to dance, he would have made us short and coordinated. This is bad news for you, because it means that probably once you're more than three feet tall, you aren't going to be as good a dancer as you currently are. You just don't have the genes for it. But have I mentioned how ridiculously cute you are dancing right now? Because that was my point.

A few weeks ago, during your bedtime routine, we started noticing that when we would sing the little songs we sing with you every night, you would sort of wag your upper body from side to side, like a person tied to a chair might do while trying to loosen the ropes. We thought maybe you were protesting your impending bedtime, or developing some kind of a tic. It never occurred to us that you might be developing rhythm, because neither of us has that, so where would you have picked it up? But over the next few nights, the wiggling got more pronounced and started to involve a lot of head movements and arm waving and we realized that you were getting down with your bad self.

And now for the other piece of bad news. It appears that you have terrible taste. Because while you will dance to just about any music we play, your favorite thing to dance to is ... the Chicken Dance song, as hummed by me. This one is my fault, because at some point when you could stand up on my lap, I started jiggling you back and forth and singing that ridiculous song and making you do the clapping part. And now, you think it is a riot. At least you'll be prepared for every wedding reception you will ever attend in the continental U.S.

On another musical note, it appears that I have a rival for your affections, and that is Rachel the Signing Time Lady. As I've written here before, you have these DVDs that teach you little songs and sign language. They are the only TV you are allowed to watch, and you don't want them that often, but apparently, you have started to recognize Rachel, who sings the songs. Rachel wears brightly-colored clothing and has really enthusiastic facial expressions. And you LOVE her. You are mildly interested in the footage of babies that is interspersed throughout each song, but as soon as the image cuts back to Rachel, you start squirming with glee. If you were at a rock concert, you'd be whipping out a little lighter to wave back and forth. And that's fine. But just remember: Rachel doesn't feed you or change your diaper, so you should still love me more than her.

This has been your month to discover the joy of fairly mundane objects. I already blogged about your love for the television remote, but you can also spend an hour in front of the mirror in our guest room, talking to that cute baby you see reflected.You don't understand how the mirror works, so every once in a while you start looking behind the mirror, where you obviously think the baby is hiding.

Here you are, ignoring your box of toys in favor of one of my measuring cups.

And this 99 cent rubber ducky has meant that I have to put a towel under my feet when I bathe you in the sink, because you get so excited playing with it that half the water ends up on the floor.

In spite of this, your daddy came home from work one day this month consumed with the idea of buying you a walker. Once it occurred to him, he just got in the car and went to Wal-Mart to get one. I followed him out into the garage, saying, "But wait, we're going to have dinner in 20 minutes!" He said he'd be back by then. And he was, with your new Disney Winnie the Pooh walker. I don't know what kind of spell you're casting on this man, but it's getting you lots of cool toys. You love the walker, even though you have only figured out how to drive it in reverse. Let's hope you are a little quicker on the uptake when it's time to learn to drive a car.

Perhaps the highlight of this month was the week when your Gam came to visit. Last month, I was blogging about how you are not particularly excited about people other than me holding you right now, but this month I'll have to eat those words and say that you are perfectly happy to let your grandmother hold you. I think it's because when a grandma is visiting, she's basically here to see you. So that means that during times when you would normally have to entertain yourself while I do something like, I don't know, shower, or eat, you can be held and entertained non-stop by someone who tells you how cute you are 12 times a minute. Who wouldn't love that? You got along famously with Gam. So well that on the morning she was leaving you were a screaming mess, and I had to change plans and have Dan come home from work to take Gam to the airport. I think the main reason for your fury had to do with teething, but the Gam Withdrawal in the next few days was pretty rough as well. I wish we lived closer so you could see each other more.

Overall, this has been a really great month with you. It's fun to see you develop your own unique preferences and quirks. You are funny and sweet and endearing, and every day I see you do some little thing or make some face that reminds me of your daddy or me or your grandparents or one of your aunts or uncles, and it amazes me to see how much we are all a part of you even while you are so clearly becoming a little individual.

But the dancing? I don't know where that came from.

I love you,
Mommy