Awkward Mom vs. Adorableness

We know. We know. You wanna know how the Vader head pinata went down. (In a blaze of glory and toddlers waving light sabers, if you must know) And we owe you a post about our awkward antics at the Cincinnati Zoo. And we are heading to Chicago this weekend for more adventures. So much to tell, but not today. Not now. Not this post. Why? Because this is going on:

My Beautiful Daughter-

It is early May in 2013, and you are turning 18 months in a week or so. Spring has finally arrived and we are in a daze of daffodils and dandelions. We are barely home; rushing here and there and tumbling headlong into summer. When we are home, everything is slamming screen doors and frantic hunts for hats. Everything is busy and no one sits still, least of all you, but today I forced you to sit on the train table for a total of 2 and a half minutes while I took these pictures.

 

You. Are. Gorgeous. (You are smart, hilarious, creative, kind, and bombastic as well, but you know that.) If you are anything like your mother, or the legions of awkward women that have gone before you, you are well acquainted with your inner beauty and a little leery of your outer beauty. Well, girl, I am here to tell you that it is ample. I sometimes can't even get stuff done because you come in the room and it blinds me. Like today.

Today, I have wonderful intentions of cleaning and packing for our upcoming trip, but you wander in the living room in your hand-me-down striped onesie and your too long shorts, looking like something off a Kennedy private beach. Your wispy curls are catching the late afternoon sun and, your race around the house, looking for Mr. Potato Head's other arm, has rendered your cheeks as red as the curtains billowing behind you. You are shoeless. You are always shoeless, my hippie child. Your skin is shiny and bright, despite the layer of caked-on kid-mess; flower petals, grass, glitter, cat hair, and dirt cling to you like the day's history in tattoo. Your feet are filthy and I still want to kiss each adorable toe.

Have I mentioned your eyes? There never were such eyes. That a perfect combination of sass and sincerity can exist in 1 pair of eyes is a miracle unparalleled. They are luminous and rival the moon in loveliness. Right now, they vacillate between annoyance at being forced to sit still and boundless joy to be the center of Mommy's attention. Your whole soul pours out those eyes; you see, it is a fearless and blissful soul that can not be contain by your little body.

You are gonna grow and you are gonna change. Your arms will lose those baby folds, and your feet will lengthen. Your walk will sophisticate it's way right out of it's current John-Wayne wobbled gait. Someday you will be taller, stronger, bigger. Your hair will be tamed into ponytails and bobs. Your cheeks will flush for different reasons. You will morph from cute to gangly to elegant, and I will barely have time to blink. I will look up one day and you will be a young woman; roses where there were dandelions. But I won't cry and I won't miss you as you are today. Because I will look in your eyes and see that enormous soul that was always too big for baby-you to house anyway. That isn't gonna change, my beautiful angel, because it has no need to. It is the perfect size already.

I love you,
Awkward Mom

That's nice and all, Mommy. But I gots to go.