HOLY SHIT SIZE FOUR DIAPERS. FOUR. FOUR!?!?

She likes head scritches. She showed me. She rustles her little fingers across her hair when she wants me to scritch her head like a little puppy, nails digging and circles made.
She likes playing with the trucks. The ones that roll and make noise. Especially the fire truck that belongs to her cousin.
She likes baby shark and she wants it now. It doesn't help that I've been humming that infectious tunes to her since birth and mumbling the wrong words of ''baby Dorf" her whole life. If there's a screen on, she wants it to be that. I've also provided her with a decoy remote so she can pretend to 'turn it up' with her mouth.
She wears size four diapers and the box says 'toddler' on it and I may have ugly cried while carrying it inside.
She sleeps to dream more. The way her little limbs twitch and she cries out or coos in the night tells me so.
When she wants to be picked up she signals with her little hands, similar to the sign language for milk.
She tests me. When she touches things she's not supposed to and I inevitably make that erroneous mom noise she just stares at me, smirks, and reaches out again.

That's right, but they never attack the same place twice. They were testing the fences for weaknesses, scientifically. They remember.

She no longer cries at the sight of her Dad. Or my girlfriends. Or people in general.
She waves hello and good bye (AND YOU BETTER FUCKING WAVE BACK TO MY BABY OR I WILL COME AT YOU LIKE A RABID RACCOON WITH THE HEAT AND GUILT OF A THOUSAND SUNS)
She cruises along furniture and crawls like the wind.
She can pick things up and shove them in her mouth with minute accuracy at the speed of light.
She loves to be read to and loves picking out the books and turning the pages with me.
This is just the tip of the Nugget iceberg, the tiniest of fractions of what she amazes me with. She cracks me up and I love her more every day.
Man oh man, she's goooooing thrrrrrroooouuuugh chhhhhaaaaaaaannnnges.