She insists on wearing her fairy wings everywhere.
She also usually chooses from an assortment of tutus (“ballerinas”) each morning, and sometimes doubles up. Because one can never wear too many tutus at the same time.
She’s discovered the magic of coloring. This is different from her toddler scribbling. Suddenly she’s aware of the lines on the page and wants to fill all those white spaces with color. And she’s determined to hold her marker the “wrong way” which means the right way in Sophie-speak. Same goes for putting on her big-girl panties all by herself. “Mommy, I did it the wrong way!” she exclaims, gleeful with pride. I quit correcting her a little while ago because that whole thing about deaf ears is true. Wrong equals right? Yes ma’am.
One thing that remains unchanged? How cuckoo she is for water. She’ll go to wash her hands, and I’ll realize several minutes later that the faucet hasn’t stopped running. I usually find her just standing there, elbow-deep in the sink, watching the water flow over and around and through her little fingers.
So when Daddy wanted to wash his car on Sunday, he didn’t have to look far for one ecstatic little helper.
I can’t believe she’s almost three. It’s wonderful and paralyzing at the same time.
Tonight when she looked up at me from her perch on the little plastic stool at the bathroom sink and exclaimed, “Momma, I happy!” my heart burst into a gazillion pieces.
Happy. And stubborn and willful and creative and clever. And so funny.
And awesome. Most of all, awesome.