It's how fast she runs. How fast she talks, plays, and makes messes. It's how fast she grows.
Lucy had her 18 month checkup recently. She's 27 pounds, 33 inches, and now in the 95th percentile for everything. She spent the entire appointment naked, climbing all over the tiny exam room - up on the table, down from the table, on the scale, using the drawers as toeholds, grabbing kleenex to wipe her nose, demanding paper cups of water ("wa wa"), and doing her best to impress and charm Dr. Marks. I think he was a little overwhelmed actually.
She has started talking, and true to form, holds nothing back. A month ago the girl had about 12 words, which she had acquired gradually. In the past few weeks a day hasn't gone by without something new. When she can't say a word, she makes one up. Liam has become La La; the cat has become Meowmeow (as in "meowmeow OUT" when she finds the cat snoozing in her bed).
Sometimes it feels like in her haste to keep up, she is leaving us all in the dust. Sometimes I wish she would slow down and let me catch my breath. But at the end of the day, I love it. I love her smarts and her coordination, and her confidence and determination. I hope she can retain those qualities when faced with playground politics, princess archetypes, and boys who don't call.
