Fat Lip

When I was pregnant, before we knew whether this girl was a girl, my midwife said she'd never seen a baby in utero so active. She couldn't believe it. Trying to get a heartbeat from this pumpkin was impossible: she would kick the stethoscope, flip over and scoot all around. Sometimes we just had to skip it, but we would laugh watching her on ultrasound as she wriggled all over the place.

Fast forward four years and now I have this crazy-active three year old. She is never still. I mean n.e.v.e.r. I pictured myself with a sweetly shy, cautious little Clementine. We'd have tea parties and she'd hold my hand when we were out in public. Instead, we have this rowdy version. Yes, I have the kid who thinks furniture is for building ramps on which to launch ones' self off of. Mine is the girl who eyes the towel bar wondering how long she can hang on it. She fears nothing.


This week Clementine fell off the couch straight onto her lips. She bit into that poor little pout on the way down. She took a moment to put on a dramatic show and was right back to how it all happened. Nothing slows her down.

She is our fearless little adventurer. We wouldn't have it any other way.