Marian:
It should be clear to you by now why your mother never made it as a freelance writer. If cannot find the time to sit down and write about my most favorite subject (that would be you) I'm never going to find the inspiration to sit down and write a best-selling book. I'll offer no excuses, it just turns out that the longer you don't write, the harder it is to convince yourself to sit down and do it. Even if it's just a few lines. So it's just after midnight and I've gotten disgusted with myself enough to open the computer and type. I'll put down more tomorrow (I promise).
First, I'm sorry to report that you've turned a little bad. At around 18 months your strong opinions about things grew even stronger. About two weeks ago, you started biting again. This was a habit I thought we'd managed to break you of when those teeth finally came in. You get a terrible gleam in your eye as you head for the stairs and look back over your shoulder to watch me scrambling after you. A few weeks ago you daintily dangled your foot over the curb (when I had repeatedly told you that you could NOT go in the street) so that just your big toe was scraping the asphalt. You knew exactly what you were doing.
And yet, you are the cutest, sweetest, funniest little girl. You love to say thank you. You give kisses and backrubs and think it's hilarious to tickle us in the morning when we're all cuddling in bed together. The words are literally tumbling out of your mouth these days and you understand EVERYTHING. When I was driving too close to the curb the other day and one wheel hit, I heard you say, "oh shoot" from the backseat. There are worse things you could have said...
Last week we went to Mississippi to celebrate Mardi Gras. Your aunt took a ton of photographs and Poppa just told me that I could lift them off of Facebook and add them to my blog. That was my inspiration for writing tonight. I'll put a few on and add others later.
I love you. Even if you are a little rotten sometimes.
