My little, tiny peanut of a daughter is about as precious as they come.
She is so petite, so spunky and so loving. Furthermore, she is so.... different than her brothers. She has different interests than they do...
She loves her woobie(s) something fierce. (Which is a topic that deserves its own blog here, in a few days).
She plays with dolls and gives them kisses.
She picks things up around the house that she somehow knows do not belong and brings them to me. She loves to be helpful.
She obliges my every request to have back whatever random object she may put in her mouth, without argument.
She loves to sit with me and put on our makeup. (Not sure if I should be proud or afraid that she knows the appropriate place to apply blush and eyeshadow.)
She lets me do her hair and she love, love, loves to cook with me (or whomever is in the kitchen cooking.)
The other morning, I began making pancakes when I felt the tug, tug, tug of little hands at my leg. Looking up at me was my fuzzy headed tiny human, in pink monkey pajamas. She looks at me so longingly that I can't NOT pick her up and let her watch how we make pancakes.
Momma cracks the eggs and she puts the shells in the trash. And with every one, she looks at me with her sweet eyes pleading for some kind of positive reinforcement that she "did a good job." Sometimes, she'll even clap for herself. How can you not love that....
On this particular occasion, I had to go so far as to allow her to sit on the counter, (while I stood RIGHT there, with her) give her her OWN pan, AND spatula. But she's smart. She's too darn smart. She knew she was missing something important with her empty pan....So, I poured about a 1/4 cup of batter into her pan and you would've thought I'd given her a million dollars. She was about as happy as they come to be "helping mommy."
I love this girl.
5 Down 25 to go!