She stomps around the house in her too-big Converse that once were her brother's, because she has a thing for shoes but also has a thing for taking shoes off and they are the only ones with laces.
She pouts like a champion, puts her hands on her hips and stamps her feet. If she's particularly angry she throws herself to the ground and rolls around shrieking. Which may not sound terribly delightful but when your son never reacted emotionally like that, and at the time you didn't yet know that anything was 'wrong', you have a new appreciation for the toddler tantrum.
She talks and talks and talk and talks. And sings. But mostly she talks. Her vocabulary is quite amazing and I adore having conversations with her.
Her latest thing: if I sit on the floor she backs herself up to the farthest point in the room then flings her arms wide. As soon as I do too she comes hurtling towards me at breakneck speed and launches herself into my arms for the world's biggest cuddle. I melt.
She is forever looking out for her little big brother. If one of the big kids are bothering him she goes to town on them and cuddles our Little Mate. I could cry for how that makes me feel. He will be loved and protected, our small boy. His sister will make sure of that.
Her curls are not so curly as her hair is getting longer, but they bounce back up after a shower or if it is humid. Her eyes sparkle with mischief and she has the longest lashes. Her legs have lost the last roundness of babyhood and are strong from so much activity. She is getting tall and lean, less baby and more little girl.
She never stops. It is go go go from the moment she wakes until her head hits the pillow at night.
She holds my heart, this last babe of ours. And she makes it sing.