Amazing...

When I held Jaslyn as a baby, I used to worry I wouldn't like her once she hit two or so. After all, wasn't that when all kids turned into monsters? Throwing tantrums in line at the grocery store, whining about eating their vegetables, being sticky all the time. I wasn't expecting to love and enjoy my girls even more as they got older. But somehow, that's what happened. It's been so fun to see their personalities emerge--their little souls surface with such honesty and life and uniqueness.

Jaslyn is the one who will run to open the door whenever the doorbell rings. And she'll ask whoever's there to dance with her--even a UPS guy will do a little jig on the doorstep. She'll organize a band at pre-school, explain in great detail where poop comes from, and dip her bananas in ketchup. She's grateful for everything. We rarely need to remind her to say thank you. Even yesterday, as we were playing together, she randomly says: "Mommy, thank you for taking care of me." She sees beauty everywhere. When Sean put up the naked center pole of the Christmas tree, she was in awe. "Daddy, it's so beautiful," she told him. And then once the branches, lights and decorations were on, she couldn't take her eyes off the magic. She's a little theologian, too. Asking questions like, "Does God go potty?" "Can Jesus come over to play?" and "If God made trees and clouds, can he make us lunch, too?"

Maleah is a whole other person. I expected her to be just like her sister, but she's all Maleah. More laidback, observant, contemplative it seems. It was interesting to even compare their first birthday parties. Jaslyn was moving from person to person, wanting to be held or played with by each of her thirty-plus guests. And when the cake came, she put on a scrumptious show of spreading it from head to foot. Maleah daintily picked at her cake. And, once, after coming in from the deck where everyone was hanging out, I noticed she sat alone in the living room playing quietly with her socks. A perfectly content birthday girl.

I'm reminded every day how blessed I am to have two unique, beautiful miracles running around. I don't remember it every moment of the day. (When Jaslyn fingerpaints the carpeting or Maleah somehow manages to get applesauce stuck on the ceiling, it's a little harder to see.) But, at some point, when Maleah's snuggles in under my neck or Jaslyn asks me to join her in her cardboard boat crossing a river filled with anacondas, I remember. They still might cry in the grocery store, sit on their veggies instead of eat them, and they really are mysteriously and consistently sticky. But they're mine.