It is official: Mali is not Leelo, and Leelo is not Mali. There won't be any more "Mali says this and Leelo doesn't yet" examples recorded here. Leelo is doing his own thing, Mali is doing her own thing.
Which right now is talking up a storm. Some of what she says is context-appropriate parroting: "Don't touch the bees!" Other times it is her own constructions: "I'm still hungry! More croissant, please," or, when I try to put her in the too-toasty car, appropriate complaints: "It's hot!"
I love how she squeals with joy when a favorite person arrives. I love how all of Iz's friends at school, including Eliz, like Mali so much that it often takes me 10 minutes to terminate their game of Pass the Baby.
I am ready to shave her head to see if real hair will replace her current fun-house hair.
I am ready for her to be out of our bed so as to facilitate access to my husband.
I am ready for her to go to nursery school. So is she. But we have to wait two more months.
If Mali was Iz, Leelo would be one week old.
I am still shocked that Mali is even here.
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