But as far as I’m concerned she’s still my baby
My daughter has turned two, so we can no longer really justify calling her a baby, which is absurd because she is a baby; a baby who can walk and run and say more words each day, but a baby nonetheless. She screams less than she used to and sleeps a lot more. Her interests include lifting things. She cheers on command, sticking her impossibly edible little arms in the air and saying ‘Yaaaaaay!’ for no reason science can discern. She is wonderful.
She is still moody and a drama queen. She registers her discontent with the world – and this, several times each day – by theatrically hanging her head in front of her body in the manner of Charlie Brown, before slowly, sadly walking around us as if on a one-person parade of hurt feelings. A course of action which is, unfortunately for her, hilarious.
