Just like a white winged dove

Oh, yes. Seventeen.

Seventeen months of Chou.

I could go on here about how many words she has (too many to count), how she's stringing together her first sentences, how she's learning new signs, words and French words, how many teeth she has (11...one of the four first molars has yet to break through), and the amazing physical prowess she exhibits on a regular basis (she has mastered the new play structure, pushing herself on ride-on toys and will move a chair from across the room to use as a ladder), but all this pales in comparison to the development of her afro.

I give you, the Fro Glow:

I had a very similar white afro as a babe, and have a strikingly similar photo of myself, the sun streaming behind me, however, I'm quite certain I was closer to 2.5 not 1.5 years old. This kid is advanced. Well, at least her hair is.

Other styles she can now sport:

The high pony

The low pony

Both of which she tries to pull out, saying "Help!" Help is probably my favorite new word of hers. She says it while doing things she shouldn't be doing and it's difficult not to help...she sounds so sweet when she says it. As in "Help me get the cap off this beer bottle" or "help me climb on the counter and reach the knives." You know, that old chestnut.

The introduction of potty training is going better than we had hoped, and it's brought with it a new awareness of body parts. We always tried to let Chou have some sans diaper time even with disposables to get some much-needed oxygen to her lady parts, but she spends a good part of every afternoon or evening sans diaper now and sits on the potty pretty regular. This, of course, draws new attention to her bits, which she proudly calls her vagina. Yes, she won't say "please" she'll only sign it, but she's more than happy to use a three syllable word for her bits. Too cute.