As I write, my little girl is babbling away at her daddy as he puts her into pajamas and her nighttime diaper. She turns one, next week, and I can hardly believe it. That tiny almost constantly unhappy baby has turned into a laughing, tall, inquisitive, confident, sweet, little one.
She still loves her daddy best. Her temper – oh my, her temper! – can be shocking, at times. Her vague wishes which she so struggled to communicate at first now burst forth with a clarity I didn't know a baby could possess. She is, quite possibly, the sweetest child I have ever known. She knows when one of us is ill, and she already kisses us goodnight. She is determined to do things, no matter how hard the obstacle. My little problem solver. She wants to be helpful, even if she isn't quite sure what that means, yet.
She learns quickly, and she loves to explore everything she can get her hands on. I can hardly wait for her to walk, and she already giggles with excitement when we help her stand and walk around, her pudgy fingers gripping one of our hands. She is constantly dirty, which I find delightful.
Listening to her talk to her daddy is a wonder to me. She loves her time with him before bed, when he dims the lights and reads to her. I come up to lay her down for the night, and she is completely limp against him, still awake but relaxed. She still cries for me during the night, and even when I'm exhausted, it makes me feel special when she soothes so quickly in my arms. I am not eager for these days to pass. I treasure my little princess.