You. Giver of smiles. And Coos. And Laughter and Joy.
Who loves to chase the neighbors. And touch their bicycles. Just waiting to be able to ride those shinny, wonderful toys.
You.Who smiles with your whole face when Mama gets home from work. And when you get away with eating only smoothies and yogurt and pasta and fruit. Who loves tickles. And the little toy projector from Chile that sings lullabies and has rotating pictures of funny shaped animals.
You. Who rages when tied down in your highchair and forced to eat food. Forced to eat when there is a world out there. A world with children playing. And trampolines to jump on. And swings to swing in. And slides to slide on. And even driveways to skin your knees, yes, even those nasty driveways are preferable to being tied up in your highchair.
You. Who throws your head back. Screaming. Pleeing to be let go. Begging to play. Crocodile tears.
You are my true love.
You who wants to be naked baby at all times. Who kicks her legs up in the air while getting her diaper changed. Higher and higher those legs fly. Trying in their infinite wisdom to kick Mommy. Because that, my friend, is funny. And getting a clean diaper on, is, well, boring.
You. Who cuddles. Who sinks into me with a sigh when you are sleepy. Who has learned to point at my chest when it is time for milk. And pound on it if the milk does not come quickly enough. You. Who will someday learn patience.
You. Who laughs easily. And goes up to strangers. And wins over those sitting near us in airplanes. You. Who has a plan on how to get people’s attention. Who smiles. And bats her eyes. Demands attention. Who coos. Who giggles. Who waves hi and says bye-bye. Who blows kisses. And, if that doesn’t work, is willing to kick to get attention.
You. Who thinks kicking is cute. Or acceptable to express anger. Or for laughs. We don’t kick. Not ever. Not the Dog. Not Mama. Not anyone!
You. Who wraps one arm around my neck, the other under my armpit, and then uses your head to hug me. You make me melt. You fill me up. You bring out sunshine on nights with no sleep where diapers didn’t hold in all the pee and then we had to nurse and rock and sing lullibies. You still bring out the sun. Always.
You. Who, like wildfire, grows. And changes. And Becomes. Transforms. Learns. Re-learns. Explores. My scientist. My researcher. Like an acrobat moves, bending with the wind, floating with the current. Growing.
You are my world of a million possibilities.