I’d like to reiterate what every parent of more than one child already knows: OH my, how could two children be so different?
My sweet Lila and my wacky Vivienne, oh how I love them.
Each day that I’m privileged to have them in my life I am simply astounded and appreciative of their differences.
I love the differences.
This parenting thing is cool.
Lila, my sweet Lila, she’s growing into such a sweet and kind little creature.
“Are you ok, Mommy?” (After she accidentally bumps into me.)
“I don’t love this food, Mommy.” (After she tries gnocci and decides it’s not for her.)
“You are so nice, Mommy.” (After I help her with her “lessons”.)
But then there’s times when she’s not so happy with me.
Like, when she’s in time out. And I photograph her.
|Lila picked out this outfit. And yes, that’s Petal in her hands. Still.|
Then there’s the friendship that’s happening.
They’re building their stories.
I’m happy to be a witness to this. No wait, I’m overjoyed to be a witness to this.
And then there’s this guy. He’s just as smitten with these two, as well.
He plays with them. And smiles with them. And listens to them.
Just the other day the four of us were walking out of the house and Lila was dressed as she always dresses (skirt, fancy shoes, fancy shirt, hair things…) and Vivienne was bouncing as she excitedly walked with us and I looked up at him and he was just smiling…
…I know that smile because I have the same one.
We just never knew the joy these two would bring us. Nope. We had no idea how cool this job would be.
It was a paper trail of pictures and drawings placed just as it should be and Lila was so proud to show it to us.
I have to admit that I love having girls. The princess stuff. The tiaras. The dresses.
Princess Vivienne Kate was so proud. So regal.
She paused in the hallway just so I could take her picture. “Mommy? Cheese.”
Little baby Vivi-pigs.
The hair. Oh, the hair.
She hates having her hair brushed just about as much as I do.
How can I make her do as I say and not as I do? It’s easy; I don’t. At least not on the weekends…
We don’t need to do our hair on the weekends. Or change out of our pj’s on weekends.
We must, however, do our hair during the week.
My little Christmas tree decorating helper.
Note yet another Vivi-face.
Why does my 3.5-year-old look like she’s 14?