Nineteen Months

"Elizabeth, baby, do you want some milk?"

"Ah doooo," she drawls with the sweet thickness of molasses. To a stranger, she'd seem the perfect southern girl with her slow speech. But a stranger has never seen her shoot us The Look and say, in the voice of the Dimpled Dictator, "Mama sit here!"

Our darling angel is nineteen months. How has so much time passed since her first birthday? When did my pink and white chubby baby become this sturdy, independent toddler?

"Mama?"

"Yes, Joseph?"

"I think that when Elizabeth grows up, she'll be my boss."

She rules the house with a pouty lip, a stern look and a dimpled smile that melts the hardest of hearts. One gentle "no" and she crumbles into my arms, giant crocodile tears coursing down her cheeks, her round little arms around my back, patting me in comfort.

"Babies! Babies moo-ie."

"Hold on a sec."

"BABIES MOO-IE!! Awwwww...babies."

She's obsessed by babies. Baby dolls, baby books, baby pictures, babies in the stores and Babies. She's a sweet little mama. She pats her babies' cheeks, she carries them in her sling, she nurses them, she pushes them in her stroller. She lines them up and puts blankets over them. She puts them next to her in her high chair, in her car seat and in her bed.

"Elizabeth, honey. You can't wear that. It's cold outside. Cold. Brrr." I put my arms around my body while Elizabeth stands, shoulders back, sandals in hand.

Her brows furrow as she pushes the sundress towards me, "I whan 'is."

"Honey, it's cold outside."

"I whan 'IS."

She's as particular about her clothes as her aunt. She picks out outfits, strutting around with her darling head held high. She walks up to her Daddy and taps his arm. He looks down and ooh's and ahh's while she points her sparkly shoe clad foot towards him. She taps Joseph's arm and he smiles down at her, telling her he likes her outfit.

"Come on, baby! Time to go to the store!"

Elizabeth runs towards me, play-do bag over one arm, baby tucked under another, stopping just long enough to put on her sunglasses.

She operates my iPhone better than I do. She calls her grandparents for long chats. She helps me cook in the kitchen. She watches basketball with Chad. She holds Joseph's Star Wars figurines as gently as her babies, asking for the Jawa. She lays her head on Maggie Dog, patting her hello. She insists on hearing If You Give a Cat a Cupcake before bed.

She's sweet and kind. She's stubborn and independent. She's playful and bossy. She giggles at my silly faces and tries to tickle me. She puts both of her hands on my cheeks and holds me still to look in my eyes before giving me hugs and kisses. She brushes my hair and helps me get dressed in the morning, pushing my shoes on my feet with a grunt.

Our little Leo is content as the sun warming the earth.

And she fills my heart with joy.