Thursday, April 21, 2011
Look at you, Evie girl! 3 months old!
That means that together, you and I have survived 3 months of poop, pee, diapers, outfit changes, laundry, spit-up, throw-up, projectile vomit, tears, nap-times, bed-times, sleeping-through-the-night-times, kisses, open-mouthed kisses, drool, thumb-sucking, snuggling, rocking, holding, swaddling, fingernail-clipping, bathing, lotioning, singing, reading, medicine-dispensing, check-ups, up-chuck-ups, car-rides, story-times, bath-times, play-times and, of course, lots and lots of great times.
I have changed hundreds of diapers. You have soiled every piece of clothing you own (which explains this, um, eclectic? outfit you are wearing. Don't ask.) I have learned how to locate your binkie in the backseat and get it into your mouth while driving a car and texting at the same time (kidding! jeez!). I have learned that you love it when I sing, you love it more when I "shake-it". You think I'm hilarious. Your Dad thinks I'm nuts (but maybe a little bit hilarious, too, right G?).
I know how to soothe you, how to calm you, how to hold you, what to say. I know what you need, regardless of that fact that I leave the room and let your Daddy work it out sometimes. I know how you feel. I know what makes you happy. Your eyes follow mine when I leave the room.
I call you Evie baby, Evie girl, Evie Janie and lovey dove. I call you itty bitty and dovey girl and stinker woman, when you're being just that. I call you goober and lady and buggy (are you getting confused yet?). He calls you sweetie. He calls us his girls.
We both call you Ev.
I call you the best thing that has ever happened to me. I call you the love of my life.
I call you mine.