People warned me about 18 months but I didn’t listen. Come to think of it, I got lots of good advice/warning about babies that I pretty much tossed out the window without a backwards glance. Let me tell you, I hasn’t been pretty driving in reverse trying to locate all those pearls of wisdom.

But I digress. 18 months is it. It’s the tops. It’s the best of the best. The creme de la creme. Leina is fully mobile and talking but she hasn’t yet hit the terrible twos meltdown. She’s a little parrot and is even stringing words together. “Sit momma.” “More please.” And my personal favorite, “love you.”

Ahhhhh, if only this month could last forever.

But I can see around the curve. Already, she’s getting harder to distract and when her will is thwarted, she’ll stamp her foot and start yelling “no, no, no, no.” This is not a pretty sight. Basically, it’s the old story of the lion vs the bull. So far, I’ve managed to keep my feet under me but if she ever manages to knock me down, all Kevin will find is my mauled carcass with Leina sitting on the sofa smacking her chops.

So I’m trying to enjoy every single day of 18 months knowing full well that two is breathing down my neck. I have a plan though. It involves Auntie Suzy and a one way plane ticket. Hee hee hee.