Invader Z(oe)

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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.

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 Z chats with Uncle Joe and Aunt Jenny via FaceTime on my iPad.

And she takes many, many, many pictures:

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A pic of Z’s leg, taken by Z.

And videos:



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.

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