She

She is always in ten places at once. She is cruising all over the house, pulling herself up and perusing the remote control or the DVD player. She is peering out the window screaming KA! KA! at my sis (her favorite auntie) walking outside. She is running her hands along a banana while I make her something to eat, babbling and cooing. She is grabbing her toes and putting them in her mouth.

 

She is bumping her head everywhere. She is toppling the laundry basket. She is unraveling rolls of toilet paper all over our bedroom floor. She is diving for my body lotion and chewing on the telephone and shrieking with delight at the songbird perched on the windowsill. She is running in circles around me, laughing as I pop out at her, making silly noises and waiting for me to tickle her.

 

 

 

She is letting go of the walls and the doorjambs and my fingers, testing the strength of her legs. She is smiling as she runs toward me. She is climbing all over my body, stopping to sign for juice and for snuggles. She is sitting down, waiting for me to build a block tower, stacking four blocks up in order to happily destroy my creation. She is turning a dust puppy over between her fingers.

 

 

She is stuffing her tiny shoes in her toy-oven. She is slapping Mara to show her how much she loves her. She is placing items into my purse and pulling them back out again. She is exploring the kitchen, trying to pull the plates out, banging the pots together. She is flashing me a toothy grin, asking in her own silent way if I will play with her. She is waiting excitedly at the door for any of her visitors to walk in.

 

She is making me fall more in love every day.