"Age ain't nothin' but a number" ~Aaliyah
18 months, ZoZo. That means a year and a half. That means we're just a hop, skip and a jump away from 2 years. Then 3, 4, 5 and you're in college. The months turn into years turn into me trying to remember your first word. Already?! Age is so much more than a number, but then I understand what Aalyiah was getting at too. (I'm 100% positive that Aaliyah didn't coin that there phrase, but it's so much more fun to give her credit.) It's your experiences that make you who you are. And you've done a whole lot of living in 18 months, Zoe.
You were born on 9/11 in the wee hours of the morning. You came out making a ruckus and you haven't stopped talking since. My heart sings every time I hear a new word come out of your mouth. She said "run"! She said "dirty"! She said "money"! Not in that order or in one complete utterance, mind you. You can also hit ear-piercing high notes. Which isn't quite as heartwarming, but impressive nonetheless.
Lately you gallop around like a pony when you hear music. You want me to pick you up so we can dance cheek to cheek, and when I stop moving, you bounce on my hip and ask me to keep going. It is THE BEST. Sometimes I feel like I'm making memories and trying to capture them with my camera or trying to tuck them into a safe corner of my brain and that maybe I'm not actually in the moment as much as I should be. I love this age of you, ZoZo. I want to make the most of it.
So you're kind of a girl's girl which both thrills me and strikes fear deep inside my bones for a future of must-have-princess-everything. You are obsessed with shoes and my jewelry. You hate being dirty. But then again you also climb and run and roll around on the floor with Q. You're extra ticklish and I can't help but try to make you giggle over and over again. Q likes to get in on the fun of course.
Our life together is not exactly how I wish it could be. I work too much and don't get to experience your daily triumphs. I love your face and miss it so much that I have to remind myself not to smooch you
to death when I get home. Or should I follow Luther's advice--a million kisses is never
Happy 18 months, Miss ZoZo! Sorry I'm late but I was probably kissing you instead of writing this.