I love her to pieces. Really, I do. The way she runs at me full speed, arms in a “T”, 100% trusting that I’ll catch her as she jumps into my arms. It all seems a bit surreal actually. Just one year ago, we worried that she wasn’t as verbal as other children her age. Today, we cannot figure out how to shut her up.
Last week, Ella said something that clearly showed just how intricate her memory files have become in that little brain of hers. I brought her into the fitting room with me to try on clothes. She somehow caught a glimpse of my breast while changing shirts (sorry, please envision a blurred out image there), and then she gave me this reflective stare for a moment, snapped out of it, and said, “mommy…. Drink!” Besides the horror of having a dozen other women hear this in their tiny little fitting room stalls, I was flabbergasted that she actually remembered.
Minus the tantrums, “mine”, “gimme”, “NO”, and of course the endless bouts of public humiliation, toddlerhood is an amazing journey of discovery (and discipline). It’s just, exhausting. How are there not more “only children” in this world? Don’t get me wrong. I really do enjoy watching the many facets of her personality unfold.