15/52

"A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2013."

Maile: Solemn, as ever. We found an (intact) robin's egg, apparently fallen, or dropped, and she was overcome with worry about where the "mama tweet-tweet" was ...

As ridiculous as the wondering is, I often find myself wondering if Maile is happy. In my heart I know she is, of course, but in my heart I also know that she is so very much like me. She's a worrier, and I worry about her worrying. She worries about me. She worries about her Dada. She worries about our dogs, and cat. She worries about her friends. She worries about children she doesn't even know, when we're out and about and she hears a crying little one.

All this worry stems from her very real, very deep sense of caring. When she hugs, she pulls you in, and pats or rubs you on the back. This wasn't something we taught her, it's simply something she does. I often wake to the sound of her little voice mumbling, "Mama, nuggles." (The 's' is silent, for now.) To her wee arms trying their best to wrap around me completely. When Tim returns home from work, she insists that he hold her for an entire day. The first few hours he's home are usually quiet, the silence broken by an occasional exclamation of "Dada hoooooooome." 

Like all almost two year-olds, she's also developing her voice, pushing boundaries. I hear "No!" about 15 times a day, which is both cruel and hilarious, because we try our best not to use that word with her. But she is so, so thoughtful, this little lady of ours. I hope that I can teach her to let go of her thoughts sometimes, and just laugh, smile ... be. A lesson I'm still learning myself.

Headband and romper c/o Kindred Oak, my lovely sponsor, that is offering Standpipe and Sprinkles readers 10% off, through the end of the month! Just use code mitch10 at checkout.