Oh, Caitlin. Where do I even start with you right now?
This girl, man. She is just the absolute best thing going these days, I swear.
She is stubborn. She still refuses to walk consistently, because even though she knows she can do it, she gets places so much quicker by crawling. She hates the word 'no' and does this absolutely adorable face crinkling cry every time she hears it. She doesn't want to be stopped from doing what she wants to do, whether what she wants to do will get her into trouble or not, and she will THROW herself to the floor in a tantrum cliche of kicking legs and heartbroken wailing if anyone gets in her way.
If you ask for a hug, she will push away from you, unless the hug is for her sister. Those hugs, she offers freely, whenever and wherever she can get close enough to Brigid to do so.
She is opinionated. She has two books (Dr. Seuss, The Foot Book, and Sandra Boynton, The Going to Bed Book) that she wants to read every single night, sometimes multiple times in a night. Of course, when she's handing you a book with an expectant look on her face, there's no way you say no to that, so she gets what she wants. Then again, I get to watch her pretend to brush her teeth when we get to that part in the Boynton book, so I'd say everyone wins in this case.
We're trying to grow her bangs out, but she refuses to keep a barrette in her hair. We're trying to get her used to shoes, but she refuses to keep shoes (or socks, for that matter) on her feet. We're trying to get her to feed herself, but she prefers to rub food in her hair or on her shirt instead of putting it in her mouth.
Every time I take Brigid to school, I have this shaggy, food encrusted, barefoot baby in tow, to really tout my expertise and success in motherhood, so at least I have that going for me, which is nice.
(Seriously, I don't even understand how she does it, most days. The kid can eat DRY CEREAL and end up with stains all down the front of her. That is TALENT, right there.)
She likes to throw everything. When she's eating in her high chair, she can't just take a drink of milk, then put the milk back on the tray or hand it to me. She has to throw it to the floor when she's done with her drink. Every. Single. Time. I really hope milk isn't dangerous for dogs to ingest, because at this point, I've lost track of the number of milk puddles they've cleaned up for me after the lid to Caitlin's glass has lost its battle with the floor. Toys, DVDs she's pulled out of the cabinet, pictures she's pulled off of the shelf, food she doesn't want (or food she just wants to see the dogs go running after...); you name it, she will throw it. Then she'll smile this very self-satisfied smile that I think is going to start driving me absolutely insane when she gets older, but which I find completely adorable and irresistible right now.
Much like I find Caitlin, herself, now that I think about it...
I don't even have the words to describe how happy her goofy little smile or sweet sleep face make me, every time I look at her. She is something else, this youngest child of mine. It is going to be so much fun watching her grow up.
(Fun, and probably frightening, but whatever. I'll focus on the fun for now...)