My Ella

I scoop my sleeping one-year old out of her carseat and lay her slight frame in her crib.
Planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, I breathe her in and pause for just a moment, giving thanks for this first daughter of mine.
She is quite a sight to behold...one sock on, teddy clasped close to her face, hair sticky and tangled with remnants of peanut butter and peaches from lunch.
I think over the past twenty-four hours with this child...
Cups of water dumped and spilled.
Pantry opened...
Many packs of granola bars half opened and nibbled on.
All the contents of a baking soda box emptied on the floor.
The candy dish on the counter reached (after some successful climbing) and chocolate consumed before breakfast.
A baby sister sat on while relaxing quietly in the swing.
Candle holders banging together while she sits on TOP of the kitchen table.
The laptop keyboard banged on (and maybe a brother's head, too).
Hats, mittens, shoes strewn around the house from their bins by the front door.
Wax paper squeezed out through the small opening that remains from the child-lock on the cabinet door.
Garbage rummaged through.
Nasal aspirator from her sister in HER nose (and all of her baby dolls' noses).
Baby wipes out.
Laundry moved.
Food thrown on the floor from her booster-seat perch.
And the list goes on. and on. and on.
As her energy goes on. and on. and on.
And this little bundle of mine, who never stops moving and never stops mischief-making...
This same little bundle never stops smiling, never stops loving, never stops dancing and celebrating in the life that is hers.
And me?
I look at her sleeping peacefully, body unmoving only because it is finally asleep.
I can't stop rejoicing over her life either.
And I wouldn't trade her for the world.
Oh, Ella, my sweet baby girl, how I love you.
I celebrate you a million times over.