memories

 I write these to remember. To remember her twirling around the living room with her face upturned, eyes closed, and a blissed-out secret smile on her lips. To remember her confidently responding "ya!" to everything from "do you want a snack?" to "did you poop?" To remember her snuggling in as close as she possibly can to me – as if she's trying to get back into the womb. To remember her squealing with delight when daddy walks in the door after work. To remember the sound of pitter-patter feet in the morning as she leaves our bedroom to pick out a book for us to read. To remember the light and love in her face when I walk into her room after naptime. 

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. This age is so much fun! 

Sure, it comes with its challenges too – did your 14-month-old suddenly start shrieking like a possessed demon when put in her crib for nap or bedtime? Jaysus, it's impressive how loud her tantrums can get around bedtime. Luckily, it doesn't last and she wears herself out quickly. Nothing lasts. The good. The bad. It's all temporary. So, I do my best to absorb every second. Except when she's whinging in the mornings. I really hate whinging... especially before 7am. It's a special form of torture. 

She's obsessed with planes. Anytime she hears one, no matter where she is, she freezes and points up to the sky shrieking with delight! She loves exploring outside and has a preference for the steepest incline at the park. She'll gingerly walk up to the top, turn around with a mischievous grin on her face, and then proceed to run down at full speed. 

I've never seen a 14-month-old with so many bruises and scrapes on her knees. The little tumbles don't slow her down one bit. She usually doesn't even cry. She gets up, looks down at the damage, and just goes back to whatever she was trying to do before  Meanwhile, my heart is in my throat and my blood pressure has returned to late pregnancy levels. But, I don't show it. I love her courage. Her fearless way of navigating through the world. I keep her as safe as possible and do my best to keep my opinions to myself. 

She absolutely loves reading. I would say we average 25 book reading sessions per day. She usually has the same 10 on rotation, but we read them at least two to three times per day. Luckily, we have Grandad, Grammy, Grandpa, and Ava to help on most days. I can literally recite Pout-Pout Fish, Little Blue Truck, Mad, Mad, Mad!, Namaste Llamaste, and Peek-a-Who? from memory. She's discerning in her book selection, and while she's sorting out the likes from the do-not-likes on her shelf, I just love watching her face as she contemplates whether or not the one in her hands will make the cut. 

She's super smart and it terrifies me a bit. Grandad thinks she's going to give us a bit of trouble when she gets into school because she won't suffer fools. Please help us! She understands just about everything we say and we've had to cut down on the foul language as of late. She dropped a ball the other day and muttered, "oh shit." 

Shit.

This coming weekend will be a big milestone in the McDonnell family. Scott and I are heading to Sedona for three nights away. Farryn will stay with Grammy and Grandpa McDonnell. And while I am truly looking forward to the break, and the time to reconnect with Scott, I am also equally dreading being away from her for that long. It will also be the end of our nursing journey together. And for the mama who didn't even think she'd like breastfeeding, I can't believe we're still enjoying it. Well, most of the time. When she's trying to do downdog pose while still attached to my breast and her foot is on my jugular and it's only 6am, erm, it's certainly not as blissful as it once was. 

So, here's to change... and to remembering it all.