(I didn't mean for these to come out in verse, it just happened . . . laugh if you must)
My fiery little angel, with just a strain of imp.
She climbs, she grins, she jabbers.
She does a hippy-shake.
She jumps from way up high--she's always sure I'll catch her.
Buries her nose in my neck and waits for me to lecture.
Toys in the toilet, frosting in the hair,
snuggling with her blanket, sucking on her hand.
Finger in her puggish nose, smile stretched wide beneath.
"Should I?" she coyly questions--
the hand's already in the cookie jar, but hey, it can't hurt to ask.
"Terrible twos," I've heard it before,
but for me, "two" whirls by too fast.
I bask in the wet kisses, the fat arms around my leg.
The trails of dumped-out flour and sticky fingerprints on the wall--
they'll all be gone in a sigh and a double blink.
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