You smile. A lot. You smile when I come into your room after a nap, a big grin lighting up your whole face when you see me. You smile when someone says hello to you, then shyly bury your face in my shoulder. You smile at your sister, eyes tracking her while she spins and sings and dances.
The other day, your Daddy said to me: "I hope she's okay. She just smiles so much!" And I laughed because he's always the one telling me that I find crazy things to worry about.
You are more than okay, baby girl. You are a beautiful, babbling, bouncing source of joy in our lives.
You regularly start my mornings at 5:30 a.m. You eat and sleep on your own terms, making it impossible for me to plan my day and difficult for us to leave the house. You can't crawl yet or sit for more than a few seconds, but you're no longer to content to rest in a bouncy seat for long periods of time. You want to be held, carried, played with. And thanks to your GI issues, I'm still eating more quinoa than I'd ever imagined possible.
You do not make my life easy, my Celia, but you do make me smile. Your demeanor is characterized by joy, and your joy is contagious.
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