Dear Sweet, Baby Girl,
18 months ago today we were cuddled up in a twin-sized bed with Daddy. You were in my arms, snoozing away, and Daddy and I were watching an episode of The X-Files on my cell phone. Full from my Wendy's fried chicken sandwich combo with a real Coke, I fell asleep and snoozed on Daddy's shoulder. It was a lovely rainy afternoon, just the three of us.
Since then, you have grown into such an independent, intelligent, CURIOUS, sensitive, charming, impish, sweet, whirlwind of activity punctuated by naps. You have figured out how to open the back door, but fortunately you can't do it if the deadbolt is locked. This is very frustrating for you. Though you don't actually speak much, you have your own language that only I can understand. "Da!" is either Daddy or goodbye, and you blow kisses like an American Indian gives a war cry. You wave goodbye to everybody, but your favorite time of day is when Daddy comes home. You grab my index finger and lead me, running, to the front door. I have to hold you and Dante back until he has the vehicle parked. Then you run out to greet him, and he gives you his coffee thermos to carry inside for him, which you do with glee.