While settling into bed last night:

"Tomorrow is Tuuuuuuuuesday. Day of zerberts."

Matt says this every. Single. Day. "When is it not the day of zerberts?"

"Hmm... February twenty-ninth, every fifteen years."

"...I think you just made that up."

(What's really funny is that for a few seconds, there, before I responded, I actually tried to work out how often that would be.)

((Every sixty years. For Certain Persons who shall remain nameless but who would actually want that question answered.))

You know what I love? I love it when I go to get Penny out of the crib in the morning and she goes from fussy to overjoyed when I walk into the room.

I love it when she's in a good mood, and I manage to decipher her needs before she has to get really grumpy about them.

I love it when I'm making dinner or washing dishes or whatever and I can listen to Matt and Penny playing, and she starts giggling hysterically.

I love watching her play, banging things together, or toddling away from me on her short, fat little legs, a toy gripped tightly in her chubby little fist. Even more than that, I love watching her walk toward me, dropping the toy to grab onto my leg. Even when that's kind of inconvenient.

I love being Penny's mom. Even though I fret a lot and worry about things I have no control over. There's just nothing that compares.

You may brace for more unapologetic mommy-glurge as Penny's birthday approaches.

--Liz