Sweet sixteen months

This photo is complements of my Uncle Drew.

In my few short months as a mother, I've now come to the experienced conclusion that if I could, I'd bottle our little miss up with some preservatives and keep her at her current age forever. Forever! She's that enjoyable. Today I secretly observed while she repeatedly stuck her face over the air vent and giggled, because—as I can only assume—she found the rushing cold air up her nostrils to be a thrill. Who wouldn't want to bottle up that kind of behavior for future use?

It's true. I'm head over heels about my soon-to-be 16-month-old. I can't seem to keep my eyes off her—mainly because she's always up to something. I was thinking about this while at church today. I can remember a time when I was able to pay attention during church. Now the three-hour block of church is mainly filled with me chasing a toddler, picking up an array of strewn-about toys, and regulating the amount of yogurt melts she tries to stuff in her mouth. Today was no different, except for the wonderful fact that we didn't have to walk the halls during sacrament meeting. It must have had something to do with the handsome baby sitting right in front of us. He's only a few weeks younger and he and Clara flirted through the whole thing. And by flirted, I mean she blew kisses and he poked her in the face. Sounds about right for their respective genders, no?

And I know I've already given all the juicy details of Clara's fondness for smooches, but it's only multiplied since then. Shoot, I must have received at least 75 kisses yesterday. And I'm not just talking about smacks on the lips. This little miss bestows kisses to whatever object her lips seem to be closest to. Knees, elbows, biceps, my big toes. No limb left behind! She's also recently learned what a hug is, and good gracious is it the sweetest thing to be a recipient of one of those tight squeezes.

I guess one of the things that is so perfect about this age of hers is that she thinks her parents are the most wonderful specimens on earth. (Could be true, though. It's never really been verified one way or the other so we should all just keep our options open.) She's pretty much on board with anything Tom and I do, and if she doesn't like it, she still doesn't talk back because, quite simply, she doesn't know how. It's fantastic! Of course, she knows how to throw a decent fit, filled with all the raw emotion and anguish that one would expect from a proper drama queen. But such episodes are quite small in comparison to well, the kissing, for one. And the curiosity with nostril ventilation, for another.

In case there is some concern, no, I don't really want to keep Clara at 16 months for the rest of her life. That'd be kind of like keeping her up in a tower forever and only letting her be friends with a lizard and refusing to let her get a haircut. (I've been watching Tangled some lately, does it show?) (I used a birthday gift card to buy it for myself.) (I'm still a six-year-old at heart, apparently.) But I would love to bottle up some of her agreeableness, and love, and use it to sprinkle over her head when she's going through the terrible twos. And threes. And teens.

I think I just need to find the right kind of preservatives and we're there.




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P.S. Nope—she's not walking yet (I know, can you believe it?). But she's only about a hop and a skip away from it. She just needs a good kick in the pants. There I was thinking she'd be walking by July, and now even August is looking grim. But I s'pose I can't complain—she's hasn't even reached 20 pounds yet (I know, can you believe it?).