Twelve long months have passed since I was yanked from my mommy and tossed into a world that at first seemed grim, but now sparkles with possibilities.

It's a good life. I eat all I want, though I'm waiting for my first chocolate. I sleep a lot. Mom and dad seem to think that dark means bed time, but I scream now and then so they know that I have my own agenda and it doesn't include my crib!

I slurp my food, gnaw on toys, create artistic diapers, battle the stairs, and double check all the floor debris in my mouth to make sure it's safe to walk on. I don't think mom and dad know how hard my day is! Let's talk allowance.

But I've got them trained. I point, I get. I grunt, they hold me. I smile, they coo. Even a sour-faced wimper is good for a sit on dad's head or a thoughtful pull on someone's hair. I've even learned that a twist of my shoulder, a snap of my wrist, and a wrinkle of my forehead sends strangers packing. I might summon them back, but only after after they woo me with lengthy appeals and stupid funny faces. OK. I admit a few good peek-a-boos might work, too. Or a cellphone. I love a good cellphone gossip--just blab away like dad. I'm pretty sure I'm getting one for my birthday. Pink please.