One year of Mooie (a day in the life)

I keep closing my eyes trying to will the feeling of Myra at one year old to be words.  Trying to convey the softness of her skin, the weight of love, the mischief she wields, sharp of tooth and unyielding in opinion.  

Myra is long bike rides through sun soaked treetops. She is dancing in the rain and pointing to flowering trees in amazement. She is leg-kicks and squishy-squeals on the swing with her sisters.  She is the tickle of anticipation reveling in the delight of 'what's next?'.   She is a song sung unashamed though frightfully off key.   She is the warm hug that melts down to your heart and stays there, breathing softly, smelling sweetly.  She is the balled up fist of frustration that lashes out, scratching, biting, undeterred by rebukes and redirection. She is the contradiction of fierce independence and desperate attachment. She is the pudgy foot that tries tirelessly to conquer perches high above its ability, prone to losing balance and trying once more.  She is a rainstorm of food falling from the highchair as silent refusal demands more variety.  

Her identity extends to her blanket and me as neither can be too far or too long out of her presence without feeling lost. She sleeps through the night and wakes from naps with what we assume are nightmares, almost always transitioning from deep sleep to pleading tears searching for comfort. Myra loves small stuffed animals and babies, she holds them tenderly, speaks to them softly, and cradles them to her cheek. She loves hairbrushes and finds holding one an immediate mood boost. She is quick to smile and quick to protest.

Myra at one year old is is a scrunched nose, scratchy fingered, playful eyes and snuggly heart, waiting to be scooped up and adored. Happy Birthday Moo.  We love you.