Adrienne.
My littlest lover. You are beyond beautiful. And your spirit is leaps and bounds beyond exquisite.
I love how you are a nurturer. You're a tiny-human-sized mommy. You are so gentle towards others. If anyone falls down, or gets hurt, you are the first one to be by their side, dusting them off. I only hope I can be as accepting of others as you are. But I'm not even close.
You adore your baby dolls and stuffed animals, and know every one of their names. Your favorites are Bitty Baby, Punkin, Light Light, and Annaweese. Your all time favorites are Wittle Wamb and Pink Bankit. Those latter two go everywhere with you. It's basically like I have you and two others to keep up with at all times. And I always do.
Your are three-and-a-half. But your soul is so much older. I know we had to have known each other much longer than the short time you have graced us with.
When you run, you only swing your right arm, and it's hilarious.
You love being outside. Your imagination is at it's greatest when you are exploring nature. I swooned real hard when you saw a little group of tiny white mushrooms and asked, "Are deeze fairy tables?"
I love how your language of choice is dance. You can get down like no other child I know. You stick out your little tongue, close your eyes, and shake yourself silly. You can feel music. It's in your blood. I love how you can sing along with every song on Daft Punk's new album. Your favorite song is
Lose Yourself to Dance and request it every single time we get into the car.
You love building. You will sit forever constructing the most creative castles, and then put every Little People you own inside of it.
You are so unbelievably smart for a three-and-a-half-year-old. Sometimes I don't know how you know the things you do. You told me, with such conviction, that "Herbivores eat plants and carnivores eat hot dawgs."
You also have super selective hearing, and will say "huh?" forty times a day.
You don't like authority. Especially the Police. A few weeks ago we were at a stop sign and a police car drove past us. You go, "There goes da holease. We better not go down dat path." You must have been riding dirty.
My child, you are also a mini artist. One of your older little friends couldn't get over how you could "stay in the lines" so perfectly. You beg to paint daily.
Each night, when I tuck you into bed, we have to "make up stories" while being bunny shadow puppets in the dark with only your night light shining. You will giggle and giggle when mommy bunny and baby bunny go on their nightly adventures. This fills my heart with such happiness.
I love how you love microwave popcorn, like me, over your daddy's homemade kind. It hurts his feelings, but we get a whole bowl to ourselves. You still say your daddy is your "best fwend" 99.9% of the time.
But not all days are glitter and unicorns. You do have your moments. When one of your people makes you mad, you stomp your feet and scream like a banshee. I look at you and laugh, which only makes you turn redder, and then you run to your bedroom, slamming your door. Did I mention you also slam the door? At three-and-a-half. I have a threenager. And it scares me. But then I have to remind myself that it IS hard being three-and-a-half. And four-and-a-half, and six-and-a-half, and thirteen, and sixteen, and even twenty-eight-and-a-half.
You are growing so fast. I beg and plead with time on the regular to please slow down, that I can't store all these magical moments into my memory bank at the rate we are going. Time isn't a very good listener.
But then I realize that I document our world here on this blog. I get to share the beautiful parts of our life in hopes that one day, hopefully really, really, really far off, we will get to read them together.
You are exactly three years and eight months young today.
I love you, Adrienne, more than you will ever know.
