Isabelle is ten months old today.  Her newest nickname aptly describes much of life with her these days.  While all babies tend to some destructive tendencies, and are generally not known for being especially gentle at this age, Isabelle has demonstrated aptitude in both taking advantage of every opportunity to get into something she shouldn’t, and in being adept at behaviors that can best be described as vicious.  Biting, hair pulling, scratching, hitting, grabbing and mauling are all common occurrences.

And, as much as is possible for a not-quite-one-year-old, she can take it as well as she dishes it out.  With so many older siblings, and a less than gentle closest-in-age sister specifically, there are many bumps and tumbles, accidental and not, that come her way.  Except for the times when she has decided she is wanting the attention that comes with being the injured baby, she is only rarely phased by any of it.

I would be concerned if it weren’t for the fact that her personality seems to be an inherited trait.  I can’t count the number of times throughout my childhood that I was told of the attitudes and actions that I displayed as a baby, which seem remarkably similar to those I’m seeing in my girl.  It gives me a particular affinity for her, and makes it easier to extend grace when I think she might rip the nose off my face.  It also makes me acutely aware of the need to purpose to teach her about compassion and gentleness early and often as she grows, so that she doesn’t follow in my footsteps and reach adulthood before recognizing the need for such things.

Not that she is anything other than her own person, and she has a cheerfulness and tenacity that are definitely not qualities that I’ve ever possessed.  She smiles easily, plays happily, and loves clapping (really, it’s her favorite thing to do).  Her usually unflappable nature fits perfectly in our house of sometimes more… flappable?…others.

Brutish-ness, mayhem, growls and all, we love our Izzazilla.