I have so much to say about this child.
I could talk for days about how much I love her.
About how proud I am to be her mama.
About how blessed I feel to be able to watch her grow and change — to see her, in her own unique way, taking the world by storm.
I could tell you how she makes me laugh every day.
Every single day.
And belly laugh, the real kind.
Like last night when I told her that if she didn’t stop poking me I was going to take that little finger of hers and put it where the sun don’t shine and she looked right back at me and without a second’s hesitation said, “What, like Seattle?”
I could tell you how we collapsed into a fit of giggles and I just wanted to hug her until next Thursday.
I could tell you what a gift it is to watch your child take your sense of humor, filter it through her razor-sharp mind, and deliver it back to you — perfected.
I could tell you how talented she is, how compassionate, how genuine and generous.
I could tell you that she’s moody, can’t clean her room to save her life and has being a wise-ass down to a science.
Or — I could just show you three pictures that I took of her on Saturday night.
And I won’t need to say another word.
I give you twelve .. .
in three frames.
Yup, I’d say that sums it up.
I love her more than salty french fries on the beach.
(And that’s a lot.)