Layla Joyce

Layla is a hilarious little individual. She is constantly pulling goofy faces to get a laugh. She "counts" everything (as in, "ahn, tooo, fie, seben, ate, niiiiiine"). She loves sentences that involve three words in the format: "I ____ it," such as I did it, I get it, I found it, I see it, I have it, I want it, I need it, etc. She loves to sing; "Deesus" songs are her favorite, especially if she's allowed artistic license (e.g., "Deesus me faaaaasheee," which is a combination of her ultra-faves, "Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam" and "Frosty the Snowman." Runner-ups: Happy Birthday and Bimbo).

She likes to rough-house; yesterday on our jog, she started poking Carson in the stroller, which made him mad until he saw her laughing, and a gentle giggly little poking war ensued (these wars sometimes turn near-fatal, so we typically have to referee them quite carefully). She loves Patty Cake, minus all the parts except the "roll it" and "throw it."

She adores her dad and asks about him periodically through each and every day. She chooses naughtiness over obedience at every opportunity (e.g., she stands up in her high chair, she shriek-laugh-runs when you call her, and she purposefully messes up Carson's carefully aligned toys).

She's obsessed with shoes (her own and everyone else's) and her Teddy and Dolly, she loves to boogie, and she pretty much has the world wrapped around her little finger.

She definitely marches to the beat of her own drum. Me, I think it's a pretty perfect little drumbeat, most of the time. We all adore her, utterly and absolutely.