Some days, I swear I can still feel you kicking from within.
And sometimes, I swear you're spending your afternoon nap curled up in a tiny ball in your swing.
Then, you grab me by the cheeks, focus your eyes on mine and say, "Mama. Mama!"
And I snap out of it and look at you, my girl-person that you are.
On Monday, I wore a preppy navy blue headband. It has this neat little bow on the side. For some reason, I love this headband. It's smart. That evening, you were on my lap, facing me and telling me about your day. You pointed to my headband, touching it. You said, nice. All-sarcastic like. I asked you to repeat yourself. Nice, you intoned. The Dad laughed. When you asked nicely to hold it, I handed you my preppy navy blue headband and you promptly snapped it in half.
OK. I get it.
Last night you were coloring with chubby crayons at your easel. You grabbed up all your colors, and placed them in the tray, saying, " ... eight, nine, TEN."
I looked at you.
" ... Eight, nine, TEN," you repeated, without breaking stride.
I asked you what you were doing, and you pointed to your crayons and said, "count."
And then my head exploded.
I texted the lovely and talented Daycare lady and she confirmed.
"Yeah, LOL. We count here."
You are such a bright ray of sunshine, lil' dude. You are so good and make your parents so proud.
You accept discipline.
You apologize for any wrongdoings.
You listen very well.
You are generous, kindhearted, clever, and spirited.
And, you know. You make your Mama's head explode.