E is for Everything

It's another busy week, but I just had to share some Ellie cuteness. She's learning her letters and can identify almost all of them now. Of course, E is her favorite.

Whenever she finds one (anywhere), she says, "Hey!! That's an E!! That's my name!"

She thinks her name is on everything -- restaurant menus, FedEx trucks, the Best Buy sign. The world is hers, and in her mind, everything is stamped in big letters with "ELLIE."

She's turning into such a little adult. She even laughs at my jokes now, as if she really gets them. Yes, my child actually understands sarcasm. She's two. Mama's so proud.

And, get this... if Mark and I are being goofballs, she totally calls us out on it. This morning, we were singing in silly voices, and she stormed into the room and said, "Come on, guys. What are you doing?" And she says, "Mommy, you're so silly."

She also really seems to love me. Like, she really loves me. She's had so many adults in her life, I sometimes just feel like one of her many caregivers -- just another day care teacher. But lately, it's me she's turned to for comfort and affection, and it makes me feel whole, like I'm serving my purpose as a mother. The last few mornings, she's curled up in my arms after getting out of bed and chatted with me while I held her, bundled in a blanket.

And yesterday, I sat down on the floor in the kitchen to help her with her shoes, and she jumped in my lap and threw her arms around my neck. Then she nuzzled her nose against my cheek, just like I do to her. I got her shoes on then hugged her and cooed at her, my little baby safe in my arms.

Most likely, she's just learned that the more she snuggles and hugs Mama, the longer she can delay leaving in the morning, but I take what I can get of the snuggles, as my little baby grows 3-feet tall right before my eyes, grabs her coat, and runs out the door with a wave, yelling back to me, "See ya, Babe!" (echoing Mark's same farewell).

The door closes, and all is quiet. The fridge kicks on. I sit by myself on the hardwood floor, run a hand through my messy hair, and begin to mentally prepare for my day. I look up and catch my reflection in the glass oven door.

Breasts sagging under a kiwi-green tank top, strands of hair falling into my eyes, diluted mascara pooled and dried behind wire-framed glasses. I rest my cheek on my knee. For once, I don't analyze every inch of my body and its faults. I am just a mom, just a person, just one person, one of three. One third of this family. One branch on the letter E.