(That's your genus and your species, daughter of mine. Bear with me, and keep your wits about you when you see the coyote run by holding Acme anvil.)
You are in a constant state of war with your vocabulary. So close, yet so far, on many words, and the journey towards understanding is entertaining. Green beans have safely been renamed "bean beans" and the letter W is "yubba you," but the one that completely throws me is how you innocently subbed in the eff word for "fork." You sit patiently in your high chair, pointing out each item in front of you with confidence: "Bowl. Eggs. Cup." "Faffle." And then your version of "fork," usually loudly and happily announcing said "fork." It's kind of sweet, in your little high voice, but I'm a bit eager for when you swap it out for the "correct" word.
It's okay. I laugh when you aren't looking.
This month, you've had a lot of interesting experiences. We took our first cross-country trip as a trio of Sparlings, giving rise to some airport dance routines and baggage both in carry-on form and underneath Mommy's eyeballs. We played in the Pacific Ocean. And you're back to wearing the colander as a hat. (Okay, that's not "new," but the fact that you took a hiatus from it is peculiar.)
I like watching you interact with other kids. You have a very social personality, and you aren't afraid to weave your way through a group of kids or adults alike. "Hi!!!" and a vehement wave of your hand (so vigorous that you almost fall over) and a big, toothy smile. People usually say "Hi!" back to you, but when they don't, you continue to wave until they flash you a smile. Tirelessly social, you are. With other kids, you're a little more shy (read: clinging to my legs until you've found your footing), but once you feel comfortable, you run and play and you don't often look back.
... but sometimes I wish you'd look back. Those moments when you come tearing through the room just to wrap your arms around my legs and say "Awwwww, mama," ... I just lose it. I want you to be independent and strong and happytown, but I love when you check back in to tell me you love me, and then scamper off again, legs wobbly with velocity. Sometimes my heart swells with pride. Sometimes my eyes well with tears. But either way, I'm watching you grow up, literally right in front of my eyes, and it's amazing.
You inspire me. You exhaust me. You make me look at things in ways that sometimes require crawling on the floor or crawling back to my own childhood. You make me crazy in the head. And you make me happy, Birdy.
Mama loves you. All twenty-one wild months of you.