Life Starts Now.

Living each day to the fullest, because we know first-hand just how fragile life can be.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

18.

You are 18 months old.  For eighteen months, my Father has been exfoliating what I once was, into a mother, who will one day be worthy of the precious little person you are.  Saying that I'm thankful for every day is so much of an understatement that it doesn't even seem right to be putting it out there.  But I am.  I'm so thankful.  And HONORED, to be the mommy of a special-needs child.  Somehow, I knew I had it in me.

A few cool things about you right now:

You love to dance.  To everything.  And you have great taste in music.  You've had music playing in your room almost every night since the day you were born, and you have a mommy who sings, so...I hope that music is as influential to you  one day as it is to me.  It's looking that way.  You can snap your fingers, and kick your feet to a beat, even when we don't notice that there is music playing. You find it before we do.

You have a temper.  (Like we didn't see this coming... ;)  I love it.  A person with opinions makes things happen, and you above anyone I know, can definitely do that.  You're at an age where your lack of vocabulary frustrates you, but we're working really hard to get past that.  You can say: No.  Mama.  Dada.  Papa.  (Mimi comes out 'meh,' but we know you're trying, and I had to give you something for the effort,) All done.  Molly-Molly (moy-moy), Dog.  More.  Up.  Hat.  Yes.  :)

You are snuggly.  We were so sad to say good-bye to duckie, the poor binkie that died, twice.  We've moved on to the froggie-binkie.  You don't seem to notice the difference, but lately, you want to snuggle more.  You plop down in the middle of the room when you touch a soft blanket.  When I come home, you give hugs, and you miss people when they're gone.  It impresses me, because I think I look for something to be wrong with you....like, waiting for you to not progress or something....and then you do.  Continually surprising me.  Continually melting my heart in ways I never thought possible.  All props pointed to the sky.

Happy 18 months, sweet baby.  Thank you.  For all that you've taught me.  Over and over.


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