Last night I had Miss T with me as I put some laundry away.  Once I finished up in my closet, I opened the door to leave and she beat me out.  I realized I had forgotten one last thing, so I turned my back and was only about 25 seconds behind her.  By the time I made it back into my bedroom, she was already standing in the middle of the bed, grinning very proudly.  Her grandfather calls this a shit-eating grin, and I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of it.

This morning her daycare re-opened after the holidays and even though N and I were still off work I decided to take her in.  Partly because I had a lot to do at home that would be easier without her underfoot, but also because I wanted to try and get her used to her new class.  Since she turned one over the break, the daycare wanted to start her in the toddler class as soon as we got back.  Not a huge deal, I guess, except for one thing:  napping on a mat instead of in a crib.  When I dropped her off I told them good luck with that since I didn’t really expect her to cooperate.  However, she apparently did just fine with it and when I picked her up they kept gushing about what a good girl she was.

Then once we got home from daycare, she was playing in the living room while I cooked dinner.  AE and N were in there too, but realized too late what she was doing – by the time N got to her, she had already broken her new baby doll stroller by sitting in it herself.  And then much angry screeching ensued.

Miss T is a very sweet little girl – she loves to get hugs and kisses, and has the most adorable little smile I’ve ever seen.  She’ll blow kisses and wave bye-bye, and she is a gentle, caring “mommy” to all of her stuffed babies.  She is genuinely a very good girl, and has been from day one.

BUT.  She has a bit of a streak.  A streak I know all too well, I streak I experience firsthand (and try to keep in check) on an almost daily basis.  In little ones, it causes extreme mischief, fearlessness and the need to climb on furniture and chase one’s brother with a plastic hammer.  In teens, it causes a bad attitude, rebellion and the dating of boys with motorcycles.  And in its adult host, it causes sarcasm and the continuous desire to do things just out of spite.

Of course, my mother finds this whole thing quite hilarious.  She always told me that she hoped someday I would have a daughter just like me, and it seems that I have.  Funny how that works out.