I've decided that 15 months is my second favorite age (0-6 months is my main jam). Everything Ruthie does right now has a squishy, adorable, turns-me-into-a-cannibal-because-I-want-to-eat-her-up kind of film coating on top. She still LOOKS like a tiny baby but she is acting like real-life PERSON and the combination makes me clench my teeth and kiss her all over. Couple all of this with a 3 year old that does. not. stop. saying funny things, I'm in heaven.
At the end of the day, when I have tidied up their minds and put them to bed, my mom brain quiets down and I can't help but gush to Scott about how wonderful these girls are. It's usually a much different conversation from the recaps I give over leftovers at 5pm...
But here it is: I think my kids are marvelous. Which doesn't mean they are easy, just that I marvel at them. I marvel at Ruthie's chubby little hand signing "please." I marvel at Georgia picking up on the word predicament (pee-dic-a-mint). I marvel at their combined powers of destruction. I marvel at how much Ruthie can eat and how they both love bleu cheese AND corn dogs. I marvel at their gentle kindness towards anyone smaller than themselves. I marvel at how fast Ruth can disappear if you're not paying attention for 3 seconds. I marvel at how many things Georgia CAN do by herself, not because I'm a good teacher, but because she is determined to be independent. I marvel at Ruth's sleeping profile, at Georgia's unwavering loyalty to her blankie and the color pink, at the fact that they both have opinions and needs that are specific to just them. I marvel that I am the one person on this earth who knows those opinions and needs best. I have been trusted with the two most marvelous, tiny people and I'm hoping to screw them up juuuuust enough that they will be funny but not enough to make them avoid coming home for Christmas.
Sorry if this whole thing came off a little too gosh/golly/gee.
I was just standing here all amazed and had to write it somewhere.