...just like that.
...at four weeks, I whispered to Ken (scared to say it out loud), "Do you think it's colic?" She was the baby who didn't like the car, the crib, the stroller, sleeping, napping, the changing table, the bath, the cold, the hot, the dark, the light, the bottle, the boob.
She still doesn't like some of those things, but at least she sleeps through the night (if 5:30 a.m. counts as morning). And she gives kisses, big open-mouth tongue kisses. And she gives high-fives and puts her hand up to her ear and cocks her head whenever you say, "Hello?" And she dances and claps. And she plays ball. And she puts her hat up to her head, because she knows that's where it goes. (And she points the remote at the TV because she knows that's where that goes too. Ha.) She shrieks and smiles and laughs. And she climbs the stairs. And she runs. She runs. SHE RUNS.
And dear lord if she still didn't like anything, those curls would make up for it entirely.
She is one.