Fifteen months is my new favorite age.

She is a nut! She yells. Seemingly indiscriminately. (Appropriate since these pics tots make me think of Moammar Gadhafi.)

And she cries. Way too easily. And thankfully, most of the time, recovers just as quickly.

She’s adopted diaper rage full stop. She wriggles and writhes. Generally trying her best to plummet from the changing table head first.

She walks backwards. Just sometimes walks backwards. Ain’t no thing. She’ll also do a back up to sit down move that is adorable and exposes her bad aim.

She demands to be bounced.The more turbulent the better. She loves to be swung through the air.

Her kisses are, more often than not, french.

And speaking of kisses, today was the first day she showed interest when Job and I were sharing a quick embrace/kiss. She stopped (whatever she was doing), looked on and then quickly moved to join in the snuggle. It was adorable.

Fifteen months is good. Minus the crying. And the diaper rage. And the tongue. Not the kisses, but at least 30% of the tongue.