The amazing Della is 21 months old. Plus 13 days.
Last time we were up at camp, she sat on a horse.
We play imaginary everything.
She pretends she is a snake
or a frog
Has a pathological fear of spiders.
Has learned from some heathen to make a shriek heard round the world, tangled in with the word NO while going boneless, or pushing off me with all of her strength, or flinging herself backwards out of my arms, or clawing at my face.
I hate it. I'm just sayin'.
I hold my face still. Count to 3 before I respond, but man alive and boy howdy (my two favorite superheros this week), it really really sucks.
She has been insanely wonderful in all of our travels. Adjusting to new places, back and forth, back and forth. Adjusting to seeing Doug and leaving again. Adjusting to the changing rhythms of weekends, to daycare.
We still co sleep, which is a mixed blessing.
She still wakes at 4am (Hello Orion! I missed you!)
We are still nursing. (Baby led weaning anyone? um, hello?)
She still loves tractors
Our favorite llama died of old age, so now we are trying to bond with alpacas, which are entirely less fun to say.
She is amazing, people. I still am rocked by how much I love her. How inept I feel. How blessed. How old. How awestruck. How lucky. How lucky. How lucky.
And yes, she was, in fact, wearing a giant monkey/sheep/woolen hat with long dark braid-like-objects while eating breakfast (cheerios = yar yars). Don't you?