Next week, my daughter will be seventeen months old. I’m not sure how that happened, since it seems like it was only last week that I was complaining about the spit-up on my shirts and cheering her on as she rolled across the floor. But here we are. I’m pretty sure the next time I blink, she’ll be seven. Before we get there, I feel it necessary to record some of the things that make Tori “Tori” at this moment in time. Things like:
Running across the room to grab our legs and hug them. That little girl loves to hug—she even hugs the other kids at daycare. But the best ones are when she stops what she’s doing and tackles us, saying “Hi, Mommy” as she does (I think that’s code for I love you).
Practicing her Miss America wave every chance she gets. She has a wave that’s pageant-ready, complete with a perfectly turned wrist and an ear-to-ear smile. Too bad I have no plans to enter her in an actual pageant.
Throwing world class tantrums. If tantrums were an Olympic sport, she’d get the gold medal for sure. They are fantastic specimens, complete with a red face, stiff body and ear-shattering screams. I’m going to film one and show it to her first boyfriend (so he’ll know what he’s getting into).
Choosing broccoli over chocolate cake. Someone must have forgotten to tell her that toddlers aren’t supposed to like vegetables, because this girl? Will pass up hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken nuggets, and even the aforementioned cake if there’s something green and vegetable-y on her plate.
Dancing around the house, singing tunelessly. I have no idea what song is playing in her head, but it gets her moving, that’s for sure. She waves her arms around and sings, waiting for us to join in her secret dance party. Sometimes she even wakes up singing.
Trying to run away from home. Put her in the front yard, and that girl heads for the hills (literally), running down the driveway and straight out into the road, saying “by-yee” as she goes. Luckily, we live on a cul-de-sac. Otherwise, we’d have a smooshed Tori on our hands by now.
Begging for a cookie every chance she gets. Brian taught her to say “cook-ie!!!” last week (exclamation point her emphasis), and now she asks for one every other minute. Fortunately, the way she says it is absolutely adorable. The giggles keep me from going insane.
That’s my Tori. Right now, anyway. I’m sure next week she’ll be on her way to being a completely different person, stealing my heart again with each new discovery. But that’s what being a parent is all about, right?