You are such a little one now. I am trying to appreciate you as much as I possibly can while you are still my baby. Every day you get older, learn more, and I feel you becoming less and less my baby and more my little girl.
You will not, can not know how scary it is for me to walk around with my heart outside my body. That's what you are: my heart.
I will miss your babiness when it's gone. I'll miss how you lift up your shirt to show me your bare belly, and then pat its roundness and laugh. I'll miss how you pronounce words, socks being 'schocks' and banana being 'blalalala.' I'll miss how you run through the house, but you aren't perfectly coordinated yet, so your little chubby arms flail or pull up tight against your core.
I now have to distract you every time we walk through the door into the kitchen from the garage. As soon as we step foot in there you demand 'cacka' (cracker) or 'milch' (milk).
You cry almost every time a meal is over because you just want to keep eating.
When I ask for a kiss, you don't often give me big open-mouthed slobbers anymore. Instead you lean in with a coy tight-lipped smile and press your face against mine. I ask for kisses all the time because I love them so much.
Every time I take off your shoes at the end of the day, I rub the little indentations on your feet left by your socks because I know how good it feels to finally get your shoes off. You, who normally won't sit still unless a book is in front of you, sit calmly on my lap and smile while I rub your feet. I think you like it.
You get so excited when Dada comes home. When you hear the garage door open, you stand still and whisper "Dada." When he opens the door, you run to him while giggling. You run back and forth between us getting hugs each time.
In the bath you like making whirlpools with us, and will ask for it. "Wirpoo? Wirpoo?"
Every diaper change is a wrestling match. You are constantly trying to twist and squirm away. You sit up, grab things, crawl away and grab for your dirty diaper.
You seem to know a ton of animals, but instead of repeating their names you tell us the noise they each make. You see a cow and say "Moo," you see a sheep and say "Baa!" You make a raspberry sound when we say "elephant" because I make that trumpet sound for you. Blowing the air out between my pursed lips makes me feel like I'm going to pop a blood vessel in my eyeball, but I do it over and over again because it makes you laugh.
Will I one day forget these little pieces of you? Will these distinct memories be obscured by time? I'm sure they will, but I hope that just by writing them down I might better recall. Recall your baby lips, your chubby knees, your round tummy, your wispy hair. How you like to wiggle when you dance. How you like to dance and ask for "more?" when a song is over.
I love you, my heart.