Wednesday, December 19, 2012

life at nineteen months...

{This post was originally written on Monday evening, when all was happy and bright.  And while things are still happy and bright, we find ourselves celebrating 19 months with a delightful concoction of Tamiflu, Motrin and Tylenol.  As well as a few extra snuggles and kisses.}

With a sick baby at home, a mama's heart needs to see
pictures of her girl to assess how she is feeling.

When I set out to capture all the milestones of your life, I envisioned that I would stop writing about them on a monthly basis about the time that you had your first birthday.  And just try to capture the really important milestones. 

Apparently, I was wrong. 

How quickly mothers forget the milestones from month to month?!!  Not that they are not important.  But it just seems that each precious moment with you is a milestone.  A gift, really.

You are 19 months old!  Goodness gracious! 

You are becoming such a big girl!  You are smart and kind and sassy and sweet, all rolled into one big, squishy toddler-sized ball of yumminess.

You are wearing mostly size 2T.  A size 5 shoe.  A size 2T-3T pull-up {and a size 6 diaper at night}.  But you are sporting 3T jammies.  Whoa!

You can say your 'A-B-Cs'.  Sort of.  You stop at G and pick up somewhere around L.

You can tell us who the first three Presidents were.  Which I think is hilarious, because until your Daddy and you had this history lesson, I only knew the first, sixteenth and thirty-fifth Presidents.

You can count to eleven {or eee-leb-n, in toddlerese}.

You sing 'Jesus Loves Me' whenever the mood strikes you. {Yes, I tend to get a little misty-eyed every time.}

When asked who loves you most of all, you reply rather in emphatically, 'Jesus!'

You are not a fan of Santa.  Not in the least.  You actually do not want him to come see you this Christmas.  We captured the dislike on our Christmas card this year.  One for the record books in my opinion.

We are in the process of potty-training.  You are doing a great job!   I think it is absolutely hysterical that you like to look at a book while sitting on the potty.  You'd sit there for days, if I let you. 

You think that everything that comes in a 2-liter bottle is Coke.  On occasion we will dilute Diet Sierra Mist or Sprite and give it to you.  You think this is the best thing ever!  And then you burp for what seems like hours. 

You are becoming more and more independent.  You do not want any help feeding yourself.  You insist on trying to put on your socks and shoes on by yourself.  You attempt to brush your teeth.  You like to wash your own hair and bathe yourself.  These tasks always come with a, 'I do it, mama' or 'Harper do it'.

You do not forget a face or a name {a trait inherited from the Brown side of the family}!  You are such a social butterfly. 

And you have many nicknames.   You are Papa's Lily.  Gigi's Baby.  Nana's Sweetpea.  PopPop's Pickle.  Daddy's Girl {or guh-rul, again in toddlerese}.  And Mommy's Angel. 

Each and every moment of every single day, you light up my life in ways unfathomable.  I could spend a lifetime trying to explain how much I love you and it wouldn't be near enough time.  In a world that gets darker and darker, you continue to shine light.   I wrap you up tight in arms full of love and whisper Truth into your ears.  Praying it sinks deep into your heart.  Praying you know that these arms of mine will always be your safe place.

Harper, you must always know that you are a smart, sweet, kind, beautiful baby girl.  Always Mommy's baby girl.  You have a heart for people.  And I pray every day that God breathes Himself into that heart so that you can be a beacon of light for all those around you.  May you continue to grow bold to what He has called you to, my sweet girl!  Keep singing 'Jesus Loves Me' when the mood strikes.  Because He does.  He loves you more than anyone else on this Earth. 

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