Two

She's turning two this month.
That little head in the picture was only about 8 weeks old at the time.
She's chock full of sweetness. She's messy. As messy as they come.
She's a got a scream so loud that I considered having my blood pressure checked more regularly.
She's fun. If he laughs, she laughs. She can hop like a pro --both feet off the ground, over and over and over. She loves to dance. She's like her mommy and walks around singing a lot. Even though I nursed her on demand and broke all the "rules" and catered to her night after night, she turned out to be a champion sleeper. She has no paci, no lovey, no nothing. She just loves her little nighttime routine and that's about all it takes for her to sing or talk herself to sleep. Her latest thing is talking to Josh. And I mean calling him Josh. "Josh come here. Look, Josh." She's loving and affectionate. I can be at the end of the tether with my jaw locked when she comes up and smacks my cheek with a big kiss. Disarming.

She's tough and has no trouble holding her own. She knows some of the catechism questions and loves to sing Holy, Holy, Holy. She loves her Spot books and her upcoming birthday party will testify to this. She's mischievous and emotional. She eats quinoa and broccoli. She answers to Princess Pie, Baby Girl, and Beautiful, among other things. I tell her I love her multiple times a day. She wanted to brush my hair the other day and I knew then that I had entered the next territory in the world of daughters.

I love my baby girl. I'm not ready for age 2. I'm not ready for her to say Milk instead of Milt. I'm not ready for her to say Yuck instead of Yutz. I'm not ready for her to lose that baby face and that wispy blond hair. But it's all coming. And I know I'm going to love her all the more.