As of Saturday, Ava is 21 months old. I know. Unbelievable. What's that you say? You can believe it? Well, fine. But you're not her mommy, who is still in disbelief at the incredible pace at which children grow up.
Yesterday, Ava learned to crawl. I swear. Then suddenly, she was walking, causing trouble, sitting at the table, minus highchair and/or booster seat, feeding herself with a fork. Just last week she was laying on the floor, peaceful and content, rolling over. Now she's demanding to watch Wow Wow Wubbzy, and Dora, and insisting that she be allowed to eat Lay's BBQ chips for every meal. Then she cries when we run out of chips.
I'm still on the fence about whether or not Ava should become a big sister, so if she's my last baby I'm determined to cherish these last bits of babydom. She's in a hurry to grow up, but I'm trying to drag her back to cuddle. She can play Barbies later, right now she's going to hug her mommy.
The terrible twos aint got nothing on Ava. She can get into anything she sets her mind to, all with the help of a kitchen chair she pushes around to climb onto stuff. She will: smear glitter lip gloss all over the couch in the blink of an eye, pull Alana's hair, dump out all of the toys, ask for more chips by grunting, all without missing a step. She must have bottoms on at all times, otherwise the diaper is coming off. And if you change the channel from cartoons, prepare to feel her wrath. In this form:
Ava counters her spunkiness with an equal part of cuteness, in the form of perfect little lips, super long eyelashes and her little baby mullet. I could just squeeze her!