2 going on 25

I just now realized that this Tuesday is Melia's half birthday.  She'll be closer to 3 than 2.  It's adding to my grief.  I'm already weirded out by how quickly she's growing up.

For example, today is the 5th consecutive day that she's worn her big girl panties (or "pincess panzies" as she calls them) with no accidents.  That's right folks, both #1 and #2 in the #toilet.  I know she's a bit of a late bloomer in this area, but I'm pretty sure her mother is to blame.  She's been ready for quite some time, but seeing her in pincess panzies freaks me out a bit.  She's my baby!  She's not old enough to be wearing panzies!  And as much as I hate changing diapers, I hate the thought of her growing up even more.  Doesn't she look so darn old?

Her brothers have been fantastic cheer-leaders and advice givers ("Now you have to shake it!") and have enjoyed the fruits of her labors {meaning they get a treat every time she does her business, so they're more than willing to ask her every two minutes if she needs to poop}.  She is one lucky gal.

Even putting the panzies aside, Melia still thinks she's 2 going on 25.  She bosses everyone - even her maw and paw - around, threatens folks with time outs and believes she's entitled to every bite of food we have in our house.  And will eat it.  Without asking.  {25 pieces of Salt Water Taffy in one sitting? No prob.  Half a loaf of bread in the time it takes mom to get dressed?  Piece of cake.  Piece of cake?  You betcha.}

 She takes great pleasure in teasing her big brothers mercilessly, laughing at them when they get into trouble, turning everything into a competition and then trash talking when she wins, hitting them and then crying and tattling when they hit back.  She's a little spit-fire and trouble maker, and she's so darn adorable that we don't know what to do with ourselves.  We are in B-I-G trouble with this girl.

She also talks like crazy, has a rockin' imagination, loves to give hugs and kisses, stroke your cheek when she's happy to see you, be rocked like a baby, take care of her own babies, talk on the phone, take pictures, and squeal when Daddy gets home from work.  She demands a song when we tuck her in at night - usually Scripture Power or I Love To See The Temple - and will raise her fist enthusiastically during both songs.  She melts our hearts and knows exactly when to throw an "I love you!" our direction so that we don't pack her up and sell her to the gypsies.

And we love her back. A lot.