Sometimes she looks not like a baby and not like a toddler, but so much like a big girl that it takes my breath away.
And then she acts like a big girl, climbing and balancing and figuring things out just by watching us once.
I forget that she doesn't really talk.
Because she communicates just fine.
Sometimes I worry that I don't love her enough, that I don't feel this all-encompassing, bone-crushing love for her every single second of the day that I read about in books.
But then I realize that I love her like I love my legs. As a part of me, as something that has always been there, as something I couldn't imagine life without. She is a natural extension of me.
And it's silly to get wrapped up in the semantics of it all. Love is love is love is love.
And I am in love with that baby. Toddler. Big Girl.