Oh you strange little Bird, you are eighteen months old and you have found sentences. And you aren't afraid to use them. Last week, you busted out with "I do!" as your first affirmation, and now you toddle around the house on your tiptoes, sounding like a walking wedding vow.
"You do? Do you love Daddy?"
"Do you love Mama?"
"Do you want to take a nap?"
(See? You know exactly what it means.)
You've also found words. Lots of them, and it seems like your vocabulary doubles every day. You have a lot to say, and even when you don't know how to say the words, you know what they mean. "Swim!" means you lay down in the bathtub and kick your feet until water splashes onto the floor. "Kick your feet!" while you're on the swing in the backyard means you kick so hard, alternating your legs, so that you look like an aerial can-can dancer. And when you sniff flowers of any kind, it's less of a "sniffing in" and more of a violent "blowing out." We try hard not to laugh at you, but it can be a challenge at times.
Snarfing up all the flowers
And you have found silliness. In the last few weeks, you've started laughing at silly things on television, or when Mommy and Daddy make faces or say goofy things. Instead of responding to our smiles or our tickles, you actually get the joke. You know that the colander on your head is silly. You know that pretending to brush your nose instead of your teeth is funny. And you know that when we make the stuffed animals burp, it's comedic gold. You're a total goofball, and that's an inherited trait. From your father. And ::coughs:: your mama, too.
Petting a giant, metal pumpkin
When you were much littler, we, as your parents, did most of the entertaining for you. We danced, we sang, and we read you books. But now, you're the entertainer. You bust out with these strange little dances and funny little tunes, shaking your head and your shoulders at the hint of any kind of music (you really love Beyonce and the Beastie Boys, and some old school U2 from Boy), and trying to make out with any Elmo doll or t-shirt that will stand still for more than five seconds. (Dude, you totally love Elmo. I can't, for the very life of me, imagine where you picked that up from. Whoops.)
And she points at her shirt. Then she gets all confused, like she ate Elmo.
You continue to amaze and confuse me on a daily basis. Just when I think I have something figured out, you either change it or try to eat it. (That's fun.) Your day is one, giant, exhausting cycle of running around and playing and singing and eating and trying to lick my laptop and pretending to be a doggy or a kitty or an elephant, and sometimes I just watch you and wonder if you're sneaking sips of my coffee.
But at night, when you want to snuggle up in my arms and read a book, and you smell like Aveeno baby shampoo and your curls tickle my cheek, I wrap you up and try to make the moments last just a little longer. You're getting so big, so quickly, and even though I keep asking you to slow down, you just. keep. running.
"Does Mommy love you?"
You bet I do.