She's turning into a little hoarder, carrying around a doll diaper bag or an old purse of mine, or finally using the bag I sewed her when she was 1. She picks up little toys or pieces of paper, or anything small enough to fit in her bag. She likes to hide pacis in there to pull out whenever she needs one, because she knows I'll never give it to her unless it's bedtime.
I have to clean the bags out at night because she's started putting her vitamins in them, or cheese sticks, or yesterday it was a handful of grapes.
It's interesting to see, this new part of her personality.
She's a fighter, this fierce little girl of mine. She's independent and I'm learning, slowly, I admit, that sometimes it's okay just to let her go. To let her put her own toothpaste on her toothbrush, or to buckle herself into her car seat. Because it hurts her when I don't let her do it herself. All she wants is to prove to me, to herself, to everyone that she can do it.
I try to calm her down as best as I can, but I understand. It can be a personal failure when you can't do something that you want so badly to do. But in my case I tend to avoid doing things that I know I'm not going to be good at.
But not my little Adele. She hurdles through everything, beating tasks into submission just by her will. And I am in awe.
She loves her brother, wants so badly to be as big as he is, that sometimes she shows that by hitting him or pulling his hair when he doesn't pay enough attention to her. And she craves it. She doesn't like it when you focus on something or someone who isn't her when she's ready for your undivided attention. But she is also really good at finding stuff to do on her own. She loves to build towers out of duplos, stacking higher and higher until it can't support itself. And sometimes I can hear her upstairs taking care of her babies, asking them if they're all right and tucking them in, saying "Snug as a bug in a rug" like I say to her.
She's an animal lover to the core, being equally amazed by little flies (which she calls 'butterflies') and feisty puppy dogs. She spends much of her day talking to our cat, making sure she's okay and feeding her snacks.
She loves to talk about her brother, and everywhere we go she makes sure to tell the people we meet that "Bastian rides the school bus! I ride school bus? When I'm 5, right Mama? Right?" The other day she attempted to get on the school bus herself, walking across the street with me and Sebastian, and stepping on the bus steps, ready to walk right on without me. She cried and cried when I wouldn't let her go.
I'm not ready to let you go, baby.
She calls every woman she meets 'Mommy' and every man, 'Daddy'. She's friendly just like her brother, hugging strangers indiscriminately.
She's ridiculously athletic, always interested in playing ball or riding her bike or running or flipping. She caught on super quick to soccer, scoring 4 goals in her last game. She's tall for her age, registering in the 95th percentile, and everyone thinks she's older than 3.
She wants to be as helpful as she can, unloading the silverware from the dishwasher or vacuuming with her toy vacuum right alongside me.
Her bed is usually covered in toys, little legos she's 'borrowed' from her brother or a pile of stuffed animals she uses to keep her company.
She's a hugger, thank goodness, and will smoosh her face into yours for kisses. She's so photogenic, the pictures capturing her attitude, her excitement, her gorgeousness.
She's fearless in pools, wearing floaties but jumping in all by herself, going all the way under. She also will raise her arms up so she dips under the water, coming up laughing, thrilled with it all.
Oi, this girl. She's equal parts amazing, loving, fierce and frustrating.
And I couldn't be happier that I get to be her Mama.
Happy (late) birthday my sweet baby, my gorgeous girl. Thank you for being you.
(Here's her First Birthday post. And her Second.)