Zoe is 16 and a half months old now, and still shy of 12 pounds. While her body is resisting growing, her brain is unquenchably seeking more.
Tonight while we watched a movie, Zoe begged to be lifted by her chest and tummy like an airplane and then carried around. All the better to learn about height and movement, to see more than her carseat or her swing can allow.
And when Daddy's tired arms put her down, she didn't just cry. She wailed like she was experiencing pain. She wants to go up. So up she went again and again and again.
Anyone who reads any of the old entries of this blog can see how I was quietly keeping myself clear of nights like tonight, when I don't know if I can imagine a life without Zoe. She's a hyperactive, insistent pain in the butt. Like her dad. And she wants what she wants. Like her dad. And maybe she's got a little bit of brawler in her, too, like her dad. And her mom.
Now she's snoring, waiting to again damage my night and much of my morning with her insane sleeping schedule. But I'm beyond glad she's here. I'm expecting her to be.
