Balloons

This weekend we went back down to St. Pete for our nephew Charlie's first birthday party, which was a lot of fun and I'll share more about that a bit later.

At the party, they had lots of balloons, the significance of which I will also share in my full birthday party recap. But, Ellie loved the balloons. LOVED. She wanted to punch them and carry them around and they made her giggle.

The other kids loved the balloons, too, and as the party wore on one little boy was playing with a few balloons when one popped. It made the loud bursting noise that popping balloons always make, of course - a noise that I would expect to startle children. Heck, I'm 31 years old and I hate popping balloons. I don't like to startle like that. I can't even open those dinner/breakfast rolls that come in the cans that pop as you unwrap their paper. And opening champagne? No way, no how. I can't handle the sudden startle, or the suspense leading up to it. I don't presume to be known for my bravery, that's for sure.

My kid, however, not only was unfazed by that popped balloon, but she immediately signed for "more." "More popping balloons, please. Scare me again!"

And I feel like in that one anecdote, I'm able to sum up Ellie's personality. I shouldn't have been surprised that she wanted more balloons to pop, because that's just who she is. She's fearless and spirited and inquisitive. She would love the sound of balloons popping.

It's just another example of how she is so entirely my opposite in so many ways, and I just adore her for it.

I love that crazy kid.