You saw your first snow today. You stared with wide blue eyes.
You quietly studied the new white world with wonder. And when you got too cold, you came inside to warm up by the fire. You giggled as you drank your hot chocolate.
You're so wild and so full of adventure. But so tiny still. And I love that when you've played all that you can play, you cry a little as you crawl into my arms and melt into my shoulder.
In a few months you'll be a big sister. And I'm so in love with the idea of you in this new role. But a little sad too. I've always thought of you as the baby. I cried as I rocked you at two weeks old, and my arms ached when I thought of how you'd never be that small again. I've watched you grow and fallen even more in love with you as I've watched your little personality bloom.
I love your bright, fiery smile that lights up the room. And your tender heart, that melts mine — even when I'm worn out and impatient. You play hard, and you love hard too. You're napping in your big girl bed right now, but Dad and I love that you still get up every night to join us while we sleep — even if you do sleep with your feet across Dad's face.
You're talkative and funny. Dad and I are constantly amazed at how much you understand and how smart you are. And I adore the sound of your high pitched little voice that reminds me so much of Graysen's.
I love that you steal toilet paper rolls to build towers in your room. And you leave little babies all around the house, tucked in sweetly to sleep with bath-towel-blankets. You squeal at the mention of a tea party, and you're our only child that cries and laughs when you're pleasantly surprised.
I know that I get to rest when you sleep, but truthfully, I can't wait for you to wake up.
Mommy will be here to hold you.