Over the last few months, Z has become… I don’t even know how to describe her. From the time her tiny toes hits the floor in the morning, she’s on the go, like a hurricane. She opens drawers, pulling out every stitch of clothing. She puts her blocks in her dad’s shoes, and Cheerios in the bathtub.
She grunts and claps and screams at me, K and her own reflection. She spills her milk so she can smear it into the carpet (I just learned a few months ago that cow’s milk will leave permanent white stains on my beige carpet). She hits when she’s angry, and eats like a linebacker.
And she is obsessed with all things computerized. She types gibberish on keyboards, sends texts, and makes video calls to her godmother and to Uncle Joe.
And she takes many, many, many pictures:
I’ve found myself asking, where did she come from? Yes, I know… but still…… who is this little person who’s invaded my world so?
My daughter, my daughter, my daughter.