Peyton, 18 months
My wee Peyps was born 18 months ago today. I distinctly remember lying in the operating room when Peter announced we'd had another baby girl. I thought, how amazing — we'll have another little darling just like our Addy.
Turns out Peyton isn't a little replica of Addyson — she's, what I'm told, is a typical "second child."
Now I'm not saying she's not sweet (look at that face!) but the kid is a bit of a terror. In fact, I've started calling her Demon. The kid gets into anything and everything. She bites ...hard. (Yesterday Addy came home with a massive oval-shaped bruise on her cheek.) Turns out Peyps tried to take a chunk out of her. The kid pushes us as far as she can, then keeps pushing.
Allow me to share my latest Peyton story that encapsulates her little personality:
The other day when we were sitting on the couch playing, Peyps lifted up my shirt to look for my belly button. She couldn't find it (it was under my maternity yoga pants ...don't judge — I wasn't dressed and threw on the most comfortable pair of yoga pants I could find), so she pointed at my baby fat, and then giggled. (See what I'm saying about her being a demon?) She pulled my shirt down, then lifted it back up, then laughed again. Then, lovingly staring into my eyes, she took her little claws and scratched my whole stomach. I let out a loud "OW!" and pulled my shirt down. "Peyps, that hurt Mommy. Don't do that again," I said. Addy was concerned. "Are you OK, Mommy? Did Peyps hurt you? She didn't mean to. Do you want me to kiss it better?" Peyps just sat there, motionless, staring and grinning (like some terrifying doll in a horror movie).
A minute later, she lifted up my shirt again. I gave the kid the benefit of the doubt. At a year and a half, she knows what "No" means. There was no way she was going to scratch me again. She grabbed my shirt and for a second I thought she was going to pull it down, until she looked down, smiled, lifted her little hand (like a cat lifting its paw before striking) and scratched the crap out of my stomach ...again.
And that, in a nutshell, is what Peyps is like at 18 months old. She's a brave, curious, loud, smart, sometimes aggravating, always cute, funny, game-playing, silly little thing. And even though she giggles at my baby weight (that she caused) and scratches the hell out of me, I adore my little demon.
Are there big differences between your first- and second-born? How are they different? How are they similar?
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