18 Months

My baby. You are somehow at the same time no longer my baby who will always be my baby. You are a little girl in every way, so grown up, from your smile to the swagger with which you copy your big sister in everything.

Everyday you delight me and bring tears of happiness to my eyes.

Everyday you hear me exclaim out loud, "Thank you, Jesus, for my Gethsemane!!"

Everyday you do something to make your Daddy roar with laughter and say to me, "Babe, did you HEAR what she just said???"

You are quite sassy, but with a sweetness that juuuuusst lets you get away with it. And boy do you know it. You have this last week started saying, "Mommy" instead of "Momma," and are fully aware of the even greater heart melting power you now hold over me. You have also just started saying this last week, "I love you, MommEEYYY," unprompted, just to make me swoon.

I love how you give hugs like an airplane going in for a landing. You propel your body full speed ahead to the intended target with your arms outstretched as far behind your body as you can get them in order for proper smack impact.

You love your "babies" so desperately. You carry them around everywhere and put diapers on their heads with such pride. You squeeze them in a squat position squealing over and over, "I love you, I love you, I LOVE you!!!"

At night when we go through the litany of "Who loves Gethsemane?" Along with family and birth family members, and of course her beloved Jesus, she has now started all on her own naming her babies. "Who Who" (giraffe) loves her. "Quackers" loves her. Etc. I tell her YES, Gethsemane! They do love you dearly.

So do I. With all my heart, I love you, my baby.