Page Eight

These are pictures of her about six to eight months old.

Linnea helping out with the laundry, back when 'helping out' meant 'piling stuff on the baby'.

Fortunately, she seems to like it.

This next series, le Rattle du Cow, kill me but I don't know why. That's a mushy parent for you...

This beef tastes like plastic.

Someone spots me taking pictures. What could I possibly be photographing?

...the cow, Dad! Look at the cow! Here! I'll hold it up for you! It's a cow! A rattling cow! Dad! A cow!

Aunt Jeanne helping you-know-who stand.

Uh, Dad, I'm a little busy here. Seriously.

Sitting on Grandma Bonnies lap and smiling.

Another happy shot with Grandma Bonnie.

Back when she could still fit into her saucer and didn't cotton to the fact that it was nothing more than a fun Baby Jail.

Bring forth the feast and-... what do you mean "Cheerios"?

I will not stoop to diaper humor. I will not stoop to diaper humor. I will not stoop to diaper humor.

The squash out of the baby food jar does not taste like this.

Seriously, this tastes nothing like squash. You try it.

New and improved baby with kitty ears, same squash taste. (BTW, this is all pre-Halloween, lest you think we dress her up like this all the time.)

The Joy of Eating. The Heartbreak of Spaghetti.