Ya ya

Evie doesn't have a whole lot to say.  She says dada like all little jerk babies seem to be experts at.  She has said meow, once, when we got to that page on the 'Moo, Ba, La La La' book, and that's pretty much it.  Except for her sister's name.  She LOVES to say Layla, er, Ya ya.  If Layla leaves the room, she can be heard chanting her name until she returns, or Evie goes to find her.  It's very sweet, although I still can't believe that I've now been trumped by both Mike AND Layla.  If she says the fucking dog's name before mama with any mastery, she's gonna have to go back.

Drop off at daycare today was another painful episode of watching kids nearly knock Layla over to get to Evie.  Flies to shit, I tell ya.  I make a point to say a special good bye to Layla, as she stands quietly to the side while the kids are loving on Evie.  But it still makes me sad.  And worried.  Sad and worried, kinda sums up what much of our time as parents is spent doing.  Sad, not in a depressed sort of way, but more of a panic induced state of constant knowledge that no matter what you do, you're gonna mess your kid up somehow.