This one's blurry but so so pretty (and mischievous).
I'm in denial. Denial that the baby of the family is older now. She's practically a kid. She wears grown-up jammies and eats her food with a spoon by herself. She stopped wanting to be rocked months ago and now falls asleep on her own. In her crib next to Lillie's bed. She points to her diaper when it needs to be changed. If I have my shoes on, she rushes to get hers on because she knows I'm going somewhere.
She's afraid of dogs and chickens. She is a slow talker and only says a few words. She has her own method of communication. She notices everything. If you open a soda, she's on you like glue. If you are in the vicinity of the kitchen, she's quicker than a sheepdog and forces you to peruse the pantry with her on your hip. Grace and Ruby try to carry her around and she's so huge and long against them. She's off the charts for height and weight, right on track for a Smylie baby.
She brushes her own teeth. She takes one nap and it can't be too long or she will fight her bedtime. I'm sure she'll give up her nap in the spring. She's pretty safe in the bath now. She resists my neck attacks and tummy feasts. She makes mad faces on purpose, to illicit a reaction, to manipulate, and she's just as emotional and objective as the manipulators above her.
My hands are too full to reflect at length, but when I have a chance to think about how old she and the other girls are becoming, I freeze. She's my baby. And time went by me like a jet airplane. What am I left with? Messy hair, a confused look on my face and melancholy for the past.