18 months

A year and a half ago we met for the first time. 
7:25pm on a Friday, the sweltering heat tempered by a long awaited torrential downpour.
You were gorgeous.
And long.
Dark headed and curly haired.
Easy as pie.
All of which I am not.

Your dad held me as I cradled you close into my nearly bare chest.
We hovered you above the warm water of the labor pool and pleaded for you to breathe.
So you did.
At that moment, everything within me softened, everything within me felt complete.
I could hardly believe my luck.
And that was only the very beginning.

18 months later everything is the same yet different.
Your dark hair has given way to a honey blond hue with tight curls that threaten me daily with their frizz.
Your eyes are the color of faraway dark blue skies bringing a welcome rain.
You are still long.
Still as easy peasy.
You are even more gorgeous.
And I still can't believe my luck.

Some say the second child throws them for a loop, but if anything, my love, you have made my life easier with your even kilter, hilarious antics and agreeable cooperation.  Still, you are strikingly strong in spirit.  Bound and determined by all means to carve out your own path in this world.  My little adventurer. 

You don't care for sitting down to learn your ABC's or watching TV.  The world is to be discovered by you, and the only way to learn it is to experience it.  And so you do.  In constant motion.  You taste the world, roll around all over it, hang upside down from it, spin completely to see all of it, and open your arms full spread as you breathe in brisk wind that sends everyone else in this family running for warm cover.  You are unafraid and wide open.  My little brave heart.

There is such a gentle spirit within you that I'm sure was born with your first breath.  You are innately tender.  You love to take care of baby dolls to the point of practically being obsessed with them.  You love changing them, mothering them, and patting their backs with such a gentle compassion as you quiet their "cwying."  You love on other babies with incredible quiet patience, dole out hugs and kisses, and when you are concerned about any of us, you cock your head, lean in to get a glimpse at our eyes and with a furrowed brow and adorable sincerity ask, "you 'kay?"  My little nurturer.

You are the best snuggler in the family, offering up your soft weight to soothe me from long, tense working days.  Yesterday, I held you into me, so solid, your legs dangling so far down my thighs that I could not deny your growth.  You snugged in like you always do,  head nestled against my neck, your curls tickling my cheek, your arms tucked down in between our bellies, a hand on your belly button, and a paci suckling in your mouth.  I wanted to make time stand still for that moment, but instead I'll settle for writing about it so that you at this very second will never escape me.

There is still some baby in you.  Not much, but it's there.  I'm holding on to it tightly.  Even as you slip so willingly, almost eagerly through my reluctant grasp, longing to catch up to your sister and her friends.  I promise to let you go, though, when I am you are ready.  But not now.  Now you are 18 months, and I've got a lot of holding on still to do..

Happy 18 months, Eve.  Not quite a baby.  Not quite a little girl.  Yet quite enough to fill me to the tippy top.