sweet

She's a precocious one, my little baby. She's not really a baby any more though. Just beyond a year and a half, this little girl learns quickly. She thinks, then executes. Need to get some bread from the counter? Then pull up a chair and go for it! Want a bowl of cereal. Take your brother's! He was done with it.

She is a scavenger of drawers, pulling out receipts, papers with important notes, her sister's journal which she then proceeds to draw in. Her favorite place to raid is my make-up drawer.

This morning I walked into the front room, where two nights ago she had emptied out an entire bag of cereal. My innocent child was sitting on the floor trying her hardest to open up my pressed powder compact. I say her name with a lilt of indignance and before one can blink she has thrown the compact under the chair and tossed the powder brush behind her.

Yes. All innocence.

I see her little face glance up at me and I swoop her into my arms, snuggle her close and roll onto my back. We both laugh.

Precocious. Yes. But not just. Also, so precious.