Alana is willful.

Seriously obnoxiously willful.

She runs from her seat to the driver’s seat of the car, and then back when i open the driver’s door to seize her. She slurps Spic&Span in a moment’s notice, then gripes and grouses when i tell her to drop it or be ready to hurl. At first she gave me a dire, wounded face; now she won’t even look me in the eye, just runs away shrieking in either victory or defeat. You say yes, i say no, you say stop…   Battles with G were over stamina, not fortitude. Not so with Podford. Excuse me, I’d like an argument. the terrible twos.

Everything else about Alana is soft, tender, mushy and delicate. A doughy toasty squeeze on 2 fingers, a gentle migration of snuggle and warmth knocking against me before waking. She still feels so light i barely notice at all. I grab at whatever and slosh it along with my laptop and groceries and beer.

I see her on the jungle gym, hints of a washboard underlying babyfat, strangely-strong arms hanging 10 seconds against gravity with ease, blue-eyed smile staring in my face, pedals pumping 200 yards at a time. But she can’t swing her arm or kick her leg enough to budge Kila. G comes at either of us and we cover our faces and run, Alana is a thin beat of a branch against the window in the wind.

Not for long.

There is this knot in her center, a density, gravitational core to the baby.   It gets bigger every day, more and more   armful, just a little harder to haul. She gets stronger every day, hauling the rock hither and tharn. She speaks in sentences, 1 at a time, and another. She asks and answers and asks, goes and chases and does because that’s what’s to do.   She is growing up so fast, her body catching up to all her teachers. Her mind hopping from one tutor to the next, propelled by tireless legs. I think she will become amazing, i quiver and tremble and tingle imagining another beautiful blossoming little girl. I’m watching a moonrise, a desert flower go from bud to bloom in a week, a pool go from crystal clear to green with algae. She’s like honey, fights when she’s surly, so soft its sweet.