Raising a diva

I have no one to blame but myself, and I've accepted that.  But my name is Lara, and I have a mini diva in the house.  Under my care.  Acting just like me.  With the facial expressions, quirks, silliness, and comments that I make.  Oh good heavens, she's a mini-me.  And you know what?  I love it.  Every part of it.  From her stubbornness, to her loving little ways.  She is my shadow.  My light.  My purpose.  I have always wanted to be a mother. I have dreamed about this time in my life.  I never imagined it would be this amazing, frustrating, crazy and awesome at one time.  If my shirt rides up over the bump, she is right there to pull it down.  She needs help, she gives me her hand to help show her how to trace a new letter.  When I do the dishes, she pulls her chair up right next to me and starts doing the dishes with me.  I leaned over to give her a kiss, and she air-kissed me as I got her cheek - without skipping a beat.  She kisses her brother's bump.  Her songs come on the radio, and she gets excited & starts to dance.  She reads to me.  I can only hope and pray that she's this loving to her little brother as she is to me.  If not, that's ok, as long as she's helpful. I have a great relationship with my mother, and I cherish that we have these moments, and can read each other so well. Sometimes too well, or not even at all and we get in our little spats.  But it all works out in the end, and we get past it.  There are definitely things to change asap, and I hope that I can with my daughter.  I never realized I would have this much love for someone so adorably perfect.  She may not look just like me, but she's precious, annoying, beautiful, terrible, sweet and sassy, and she's mine.
Mama loves you, Ava Elizabeth.   Always and forever.