As I type, she climbs on my back in an effort to regain my attention, that I so carelessly diverted, at 9:23p.m. on a Sunday evening. The attack is relentless and, at times, dangerous. The stools are stacked, carefully, in an effort to reach her intended target. Teetering precariously on one foot, she waits until conditions are favorable and leaps. She is not deterred by injury nor hampered by fear.
She's two.
She keeps a running dialogue of her day as it occurs and she demands that you listen intently and respond, thoughtfully. If she senses a wane in your attention it is swiftly corrected with a two handed face grab into the forced eye to eye gaze.
When we're on the town she insists on holding my pinkie finger when walking. She isn't down with the whole hand hold. Not her style. Sometimes I'm supposed to be on the left. Other times I go on the right. Kinda like an accessory. It's certainly easier to accommodate than to fight the wee force of nature that is Adelaide.
She's got magic in her heart and will teach you how to find yours if you pay attention to her lessons.
Resistance is futile (and not very fun).
Acceptance is divine.
