We were sitting on her floor, getting ready for the morning. Socks: "MEEEEEE DOOOOOOO!" Shirt: on with some help. Pants: still my department, she can't do it herself.
After I buttoned her pants, she stroked my cheek with the back of her hand and said, "you nice" and then tumbled into my lap for a hug.
I promptly melted into a puddle which Jim had to Shop Vac up.
It's been a long week at Camp Sinki. Willa's on a whole new independence and testing boundaries kick.
Jim asked her not to come in the kitchen while he was installing the last (!!) cabinet. We watched her put one toe of one foot on the kitchen floor and look at him like, "what are you going to do about that?"
When I tell her to sit down in her booster seat, she growls. And then cracks up like, "just kidding, mom. I'm not being a jerk."
When it's time for bed and we snuggle for books, she'd rather look at pictures. When we start with pictures, she'd prefer books. And definitely not the ones that are already in the room.
She's frustrated that we don't understand her all of the time. She's whining, and instantly bursting into tears more.
She's healthy(ish). It's just a phase.
And we're doing okay with this. I know it's part of her becoming her own person who is capable of doing things and making decisions. Dealing with her mood swings, the screaming in my ear... actually kind of fun, in a sadistic way.
What has made this week more rough is the constant feeling of dull nausea, and the depth of wishing I could take a nap. All the time. Here's hoping for a kinder, gentler first trimester than last time around. Because in this case the devil I know? Not a pleasant guy.
In the meantime, my daughter thinks I'm nice. And my husband keeps calling me his hot pregnant wife. And the cabinets are up. And it's sunny.
Life is, all around, pretty awesome right now.