Lately you want to live in the swing.
Every day, you get up and sign "swing," even before you've had breakfast. I can't even think about getting you into the car without planning at least 20 minutes of swing time beforehand, because, you know, the car is on the way to the swing.
And forget about playing in the front yard anymore. Or riding your bike, or going on walks, or waiting on the front porch for Daddy to get home from work.
It's the swing or nothing.
And my, do you like to move. I can't believe how long you want to be spun in circles, swinging back and forth, around and around. How high, how fast.
And it certainly brings something out of you. You jabber, you sign, you make up your own songs. I'm pretty sure that much of the time you're not singing one that I've taught you, since the signs just don't match up. Today I watched you sign "baby," "tree," "cracker," and "wind" in fast succession, while you crooned your sweet swinging song, your legs kicking back and forth. "Beeeee, daaaaa, beeeee, wooooowwww."
It's so funny to me, and so sweet to watch you fly across the yard, as you open yourself up to the music inside you.
Although, heaven forbid I do it wrong (what that entails seems to shift), or spin you too fast, or answer a phone call, or walk away for half a second. You know how you like it and you're not afraid to let me know.
I've been loving our swinging days. I wonder, if, when the weather turns cold and the rains return, if you'll still want to spend your hours out there in the swing. Last year you were not a fan of cold weather, and I hope that this year things have shifted a bit.
My silly, swing-loving girl.