Sometime in the last couple of weeks, my baby has turned into a little girl. She talks in complete sentences. She sings songs. She imagines things. She acts out scenarios with her stuffed animals and dolls. She prompts us when she wants something: "Want some breakfast, baby?" she says, sotto voce. When we repeat her question, she responds with an enthusiastic "Okay! How about...oatmeal!"

The other morning I was making some scrambled eggs for breakfast. When I put them in on her high chair tray, she ate a couple of bites, and then said, "Wanna cookie, baby?" I didn't bite. "No cookies for breakfast, Charlotte," I answered. She paused. Then, enunciating every word and speaking loudly, as one does to a foreign speaker, "A cookie. OATMEAL. RAISIN. COOKIE."

I laughed, but I didn't give in.

She is a toddler now, and she knows her mind. She has a strong will, and she lets you know about it.

"NO DIAPER!" she'll shriek on the changing table. "Be naked! Be naked, and run around!"

I encourage her to go potty in the toilet. "No potty inna toilet," she says. "Potty onna grounds."

When it's time to eat, I tell her to go over by her highchair. "No eat inna chair," she insists. "Eat onna steps."

But just as frequently as she is trying and tiresome, she is the sweetest little girl I've ever met. When I go to get her out of her crib in the mornings, she usually greets me with a big smile and a "Mama's here!" The other night, while she was running around upstairs before bedtime, I lay down on the floor of her bedroom. She stopped in her tracks, and made a beeline for me. "Mama...my mama," she said softly. She lay her head down on mine, cheek against my cheek. She stroked my hair with one hand and hugged me with the other, all the while murmuring "mama, mama."