18 Months

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One and a half. 18 months. In so many ways it feels like it can’t be possible—the time goes overwhelmingly fast these days. But I would also swear you have always been with me. You were the promise of morning after a long, dark night. You were born and placed on my chest beneath a big, full early June moon, but to me you may as well be the summer sun herself. Colors are brighter, everything I see seems to be drawn with more detail than it did just over a year and a half ago. Your very existence warms me.

You spend much of your time on my hip these days. You are still independent for your age, but when I come into a room you drop what you are doing to run into my arms and settle onto my lap. You like to see what I am doing and try to help. You love your sister but also need space away from her when you are busy. You flip through books, fill boxes and remove each item one by one, back into the dog and sit down so she will kiss your head, and color with both hands. You repeat almost any word we ask of you and use a dozen two word phrases, like, “All done,” “Good girl,” “Love you,” and, “Good morning.” You love music more than anything.

You love your Dada, but have become more of a Mama’s girl recently. You love to be “Side!” (outside). You know your animal noises and sing along with songs. You come up to me and say, “Tick-uh, tickuh, tickuh,” when you want me to tickle you. You are somehow both brave and cautious. Soft and intense. Giggly and relaxed. So, so yourself. I don’t relate to you much at all with my anxious personality, but I admire you insanely.

I love you, sweet Reed. You are the best thing.