Giggling Over Spilled Milk

(Yesterday morning)
Natalie, marching into my room with a gift bag: “Here’s your surprise, Mommy! It’s a necklace! A really pretty necklace! I got it for you, Mommy! Here!”

(This morning)
Me: “Natalie! WHY did you just spit out that mouthful of milk?!?!”
Natalie: …
Me: “WHY?!?!?!?!”
Natalie: …
Me: “Answer me, Natalie!”
Natalie: “Well… I’m kinda cute!”
Me: …
Natalie: “AND I love you!!!”

My three-year-old has two life purposes: 1) To create unnatural disasters, especially in rooms I just finished cleaning, and 2) To remind us how fabulous she is. She sings and skips and spills and strews, and just when I start to think that Jim Carrey would make a less frustrating child than mine, she charms me into giggles.

Because, of course, she is kinda cute.

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My scrumptious sugar-topped babyroll of a six-month-old has developed the following opinions:
– Milk is for wusses
– Crawling is for wusses
– Being little? Is for wusses

So she runs around the house in her walker, dribbling cereal on her 18-month outfits and shrieking for joy. Sophie already flaunts a mischievous streak and shares snickering secrets with her big sister, and I’m learning every day to relinquish her babyness in lieu of her adorable personness.

And also to snack on those luscious cheeks whenever possible.

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I celebrate Mother’s Day not for the recognition or for the jewelry (though the necklace is superb) but for the two beautiful, loving, vivacious little girls who make mommyhood worth every drop of spilled milk.