There’s nothing quite like a Sunday morning where your two year old agrees to spend an extra 30 minutes snuggled up in your bed. Our little Ava has a heart of gold with a sensitive side and lots of fire in her. She’s the little girl with bruises on her legs, dirt on her hands, chocolate smeared across her face, and half her hair hanging out of her ponytail. She’s got quite an arm, a strong kick, and nothing but love for all of her baby dolls. She’s the perfect combination of tomboy meets everything girlie. She’s me. And I love it.
It’s almost as if I can predict her childhood before it even happens. The only girl on the soccer field, the girl that’s friends with all the boys on her block and the girls too, the girl with the strong personality but lots of compassion. The little girl that plays with her G.I. Joe’s in her dollhouse. She’s me. And I love it.
She’ll care about her grades in school and respect her teachers all while getting in some trouble here and there for your typical chit-chat. She’ll be called the social-butterfly I once was called. She’ll make friends with just about anyone and will always do her best to not leave anyone out. She’s me. And I love it.
She gets upset when she can’t do something, but she won’t ever give up. Sometimes she gets a little too upset but can usually be calmed down with some reasoning. She doesn’t have much fear in her and is almost too willing to try new things. She doesn’t like seeing others upset. It worries her and she feels sad for them. She’s me. And I love it.
She’s got lots of personality traits from her father also. She’s funny, a jokester, clever, imaginative, and already quick-witted even at two. But I just can’t help and see myself in my daughter every day.
Today when we were leaving breakfast an elderly man stopped to say hello to Ava and told her she looked just like me. She responded with Yep, that’s my mom. She’s me. And I love it.