Dangly Legs & Falling Apples

She is one of my biggest sources of joy and wonder, coming to life with a frenzy of activity and noise from the moment she opens her eyes in the morning. We no longer need an alarm clock, instead we are woken at around 6am by Eva's footsteps beating a path along the floorboards to our bedroom. She then proceeds to clamber over us like a sleepy mountain goat before stealing my pillow and telling me to "move over". On the odd occasion she will fall back to sleep, allowing us to do the same but mostly the moments of blessed pre-waking silence are brief, and we are elbowed and kneaded by fidgety, bony limbs and jostled into action by urgent whispers of "it's time to get up...it's not night-time anymore".

At 3 years old, Eva is energy in motion; a tousle-haired tornado, a whirling windmill, a chattering, giggling, sparkling ball of sunshine. She makes friends with other children at the drop of a hat and loves to make others laugh. She has certainly inherited her mother's bossy gene (and sometimes the grumpy cow gene too, Jaime would likely add!) and likes to instruct us on everything from how to make breakfast to where we should hide during a game of hide and seek.

One of her greatest pleasures is still reading. We visit the library each fortnight where we borrow about 20 books, combine these with the 100+ books on her shelves at home and you would think we wouldn't read the same story twice. Wrong. It's become common practice to read 5 books at night time, and countless others during the day (with books that are becoming increasingly longer). Along with this we have somehow been duped into the "tell me a story" ritual once the last book has been put down, usually on a topic of Eva's choice such as "Eva and the disappearing pillow" or "Eva and the magic light bulb". She has recently been contributing to these stories or correcting us if our make-believe characters aren't doing what she thinks they should, but she still seems content to roll over and go to sleep even if the words "and that's the end of the story" come at some unlikely point in the tale.

Speaking of beliefs, Eva has become wise to our parental short-cuts and has called us out on a few occasions. I can no longer resort to the oft-used phrase of "I don't know" in response to her multitude of seemingly pointless questions. Her recent reaction, "'I don't know' is not the truth" now requires us to provide more detailed information which is not always easy when we really don't know the answer!

Eva started ballet in December, after a few attempts at different group sporting classes failed to spark her interest. She has surprised me with how focussed she is with her dancing, even though it's only just skipping and prancing at this stage, she is very attentive and tries hard to mimic the movements of her teacher.

A prolific artist, Eva also loves to draw and paint and has become very talented at creating some fabulous works of art, depicting a variety of long-legged, crazy haired, eyelash fluttering people, usually accompanied by stories to explain features such as spotty tongues, green eyes or no pants. We often put her to 'work' drawing special pictures in the birthday cards of friends and family, a task which she sets herself to with almost production line efficiency.

She is an affectionate little girl, often delivering kisses on our arms or legs as she passes by, or launching herself at us for big squeezy, dangly-leg cuddles. We often hear the endearing phrases of "I love you mummy/daddy", "You're beautiful mummy" or "you're the best Daddy in the world", and even though these are sometimes pronounced with crafty timing when we've been cross with her, they are mostly spontaneous and utterly heart-melting.

We have also glimpsed the undoubtedly turbulent future behavior of such a headstrong and hot-blooded personality. On the occasions where she has been told off for some transgression or other, we have heard "you're the worst Daddy in the world!", "you're NOT my friend!" or "Lola's a nasty baby!" as she whirls on her heel and marches out of the room.

I don't want to ponder too long over what lies ahead, after all, Eva is my daughter and the apple appears to have fallen very close to the tree.

I can only write so many words and take so many photos as every age and stage is sure to be a wonder, every minute filled with moments passing in a wink. I can't bottle the feeling of lifting her half-grown, long-legged, little girl body into my arms or capture the moments that reduce her to infectious babbling-brook giggles. I can only feel the here and now and hope today stays with me always.