18

As of Monday, Natalie is 18 months old. As in a year and a half. I am astonished.

She's grown from this:


To this:


She's talking like crazy, repeating everything we say. She counts to seven. She knows when she's being silly, and cracks herself up. She climbs ladders. She greets random strangers on every outing, and chases dogs and cats. She requests her favorite songs over and over and over. She kicks balls and laughs with glee when she sees her beloved big kid neighbors. She signs "I love you" and gives spontaneous hugs and kisses. [for the record, she also still does not reliably sleep through the night, is perfecting her tantrum and fake crying skills, and is trying her hardest to find ways to manipulate her way out of going to bed] Not a day goes by without a reminder of just how lucky we are, and I am frequently awed that the universe somehow chose this child for us. Happy 18 months, my crazy wonderful monkey of a daughter.