She is up, padding down the hallway in her footie pajamas, sneaky.
She is fuzzy, her hair is matted and sticking up in a million directions from a night of good dreams.
She is asking for snuggles and her small body still fits in the curve of mine.
She is biting, ever so gently, her tiny thumb for comfort.
She is eating her breakfast very messily with her left hand.
She is laughing and smiling.
She is silly and hilarious, telling stories with her hands way up in the air and her face scrunched.
She is tired and wrapped up in dad's baby blanket.
She is sitting as close to me as possible at all times.
She is following Elle.
She is two and half.