It looks like independent play, like dolls, kitchens, and princesses, make believing everything, all the time. It looks like long legs and growing out of early summer's sandals. It looks like three is just around the river bend. It sounds like complete sentences and made up words (Minda!), like long, complicated stories, like there might be a little lisp now that she's finally able to say "S." It feels a little stressful as she insists she doesn't need help or a nap anymore, it feels a little exciting as she keeps herself entertained for an hour or more at a time, it feels a little bittersweet because she's not a baby, nor will she ever be, anymore. It feels like love.
