She spit on four friends at school one day this week (Sticking out tongue and blowing kind of spitting, not hocking a lugie spitting). Disgusting and embarrassing, but at least she wasn't biting!
She argues with me when there's nothing to argue.
She wants to wear the same damn dress every day. She'll put on a dress and then say, almost shyly, "Do you like me, Mommy?"
She fishes for compliments, but she doles them out generously--especially to her sister, and occasionally to me. "You're exquisite, Mommy. And your hair is cute." "Oh, Coco, you're so beautiful."
She still has no shame, no fear of authority, no embarrassment about disappointing adults. She's totally matter of fact about sitting in the school director's office at the end of the day.
She loves Popsicles and the park and Mickey Mouse's [Godforsaken] Clubhouse and dresses that twirl and sparkly pink shoes and her grandparents.
She asks me "Is it tomorrow today?" When she's looking forward to something. She asks me if Daddy has a vagina. She asks me if we can call Grandma Peppa in heaven. She asks me if I peed my pants when I was a little girl. She colors on her hands with markers and then tells me she's wearing "glubs"--in this case, Spider-Man glubs.
She tells me that she'll have boobies when she's a mommy. She tells me that I'm talking in a mean voice when I say something she doesn't want to hear, no matter how gentle my tone. She tells me that she loves her teachers and her friends, and I hope with my entire being that they feel the same way, because I know how challenging she is, and I have to send her out in the world, and I want the world to love her spirit and not break it down, even when she's pushing spirited over the line into bratty.
I nod when her teachers call her a "firecracker" and I pray that her enthusiasm makes up for her defiance.
She climbs fearlessly and runs fast. She loves to be chased. She colors inside the lines and then draws all over her arms and legs and hands when we're not looking. She plays with her "characters," making them talk to, rescue, and marry each other.
She likes me to make up stories at bedtime--stories involving friends, always her sister, and often butterflies, princesses, glass slippers, and Mickey's clubhouse.
She likes to talk. Her voice is so loud and shrill and she talks almost incessantly. But when something is funny she says, "That's kidding!" The first joke she understood was, "What has a bottom at the top?" "A leg." She laughed and I laughed at her laughing at her first joke.
She has a best friend at school and she is already planning her birthday party and she does a really good job of "reading" her favorite books or even new books with interesting pictures. Her stories often take place on the "eve" and the next day turns out to be "a lovely day." They often include "childwen" and "gwandpawents" and I hope she never ever says her R's exactly right.
The day she was born was the happiest day of my life, and that's taking into account that the fact that I was broken-hearted at the same time. She looks like her father, she talks about her sister Eliza, and she loves on, and occasionally smacks, her sister Coco. She's naughty and ill-behaved. She's stubborn and willful. She's bright and loving and funny and affectionate.
She's my first rainbow after the darkest storm and I love her so much my heart can barely take it.