It's very likely that she won't talk until she's three or four, and there are days where I long to hear my girl's voice.
People tell me all the time that she is the most quiet one year old they've ever known.
And it's true.
Her voice is quiet.
Her laugh is quiet.
When she babbles it's more like a whisper.
Even her cries are quiet compared to most babies.
And yet, in spite of what is mostly silence, Emily speaks volumes.
My little lady is pure joy.
Em's mornings usually begin with a miserable five or ten minutes of pain and discomfort. She cries, she screams, she retches, and she tenses her entire body so tightly that we can't do anything but hold her until her body goes limp.
The minute she's limp her eyes light up, she smiles, and we play a game.
It's always the same.
She'll make a sound and then wait for me or Jason to repeat it.
She'll make a different sound and wait again.
She'll go loud; she'll go soft; she'll screech for a long time, or a short time.
And after every sound she looks to us expectantly...just waiting.
It doesn't matter how many times she's seen Mickey Mouse come on the screen in one day, or what she's doing when he does come on - her reaction never changes.
She lifts her head, crawls as fast as she can towards the TV, sits down, and kicks her legs as fast as she can - all while smiling the biggest smile she can find.
She squints and bats her eyes at Little Einsteins.
She giggles whenever Donald Duck talks.
She sits and studies the news reporters while sucking on her binky.
She will play with her toys contentedly.
She opens and shuts the cupboards just to hear the sound.
At least two or three times a day she will crawl to where I am, whether at home or at the office, and pull herself up to me. She'll smile until I pick her up and then she'll cuddle. She'll snuggle into my shoulder or sit in my lap with her head against my arm, and for five or ten minutes, she won't move.
And then she'll have had her fill of snuggling and let herself down and go back to her toys.
If I put my face close to hers she will smile, squish up her nose, and breath loudly in and out of her nose.
When I repeat the action she will always laugh.
When we're holding her, and she doesn't think we're paying enough attention to her, she will use her pointer finger to direct our face back to her.
She will do it over and over again.
She glares when I put her binky in my mouth, and then laughs when she pulls it out.
If there is something blocking our faces from Emily, she will automatically play peek-a-boo.
She will look around whatever it is, even if we're just looking at our phones, and smile and then quickly hide her face again.
My list could go on and on.
My days are filled with Emily, and there isn't a day that I'm not grateful for her.