I'll claim her.

Bub and I took a Wiggleworms music class starting when he was around nine months old. By the end of each 45-minute class, I would be completely pitted out, fully sweating from the effort required to keep Bub from crawling the perimeter of the room to dig through purses and diaper bags, stealing maracas from other babies, and grabbing on to the teacher's guitar (music class could not proceed until he was removed, over and over, from that guitar). We had our own struggles at Gymboree and also at gymnastics. The issue was too much energy and exuberance, more than anything, but I spent many a "circle time" wondering if I might some day have a little girl who would sit on my lap during circle time and make me feel like a "good mom."

And guess what? I do. My Sweet P takes music class and does Mother Goose story time at the library every week. Sure, we've had our moments -- Sweet P stole a baby's hair bow in the first week of music class and then proceeded to swat that baby on the head repeatedly once the little one's mom had wisely pocketed the bow. There was also a frustrating class when she kept trying to open the supply cabinet. But, all in all, she's good in classes. I am able to smugly (a little bit) enjoy circle time while feeling compassion for the moms who have little Bubs.

Sweet P is also, NTB, better able or more willing to entertain herself than her brothers were at this age. She sits on the floor and flips through books (!!!!), moves her babies all around, pauses to watch five minutes of television now and again, and travels around the house looking for action.
As adorable and independent and sweet and good during circle time as Sweet P is, she is also trying my patience these days.

In the car, she refuses to sit in her own car seat, leaving me to either wrestle her into it or sweet talk Little Bit into trading. Also, when we arrive home, she wants to stay in the van attempting to re-buckle all the seats. Who doesn't like hanging out in the garage?

During her bath, I spend the entire time trying (and failing) to keep her from drinking bath water and from turning the water back on. After bath, she runs around my room naked and climbs onto the bed to jump and roll around. Always a treat getting her into jammies.

Every diaper change is a wrestling match. This gets messy.

Sweet P has never encountered a bin of toys that she didn't want to empty out.

We keep a big container of crayons on the kitchen table with paper. While Sweet P is happy to color quietly for a few minutes (again, something the boys never did at her age), she also dumps those crayons all over the floor two or three times each day.
She's gotten better about keeping her bows in her hair, but she still manages to look disheveled by mid-day and often has snot and/or pieces of her meals caked into her hair.

She's a bit pushy about her breakfast, grabbing Daddy's handing and leading him to the kitchen where she says, "Nonuts. Nonuts. Nonuts."

It used to be that at bedtime, we'd just say, "Okay, Sweet P, time to give kisses and go night night." She'd stop what she was doing, give kisses, and start heading upstairs. Now, she says, "No."

"No" is her new favorite word. Would you like pasta? More milk? Ready to go pick up Bub? "No."

I won't go into all the things that can go wrong if the boys or I forget to close the bathroom door.

She has now figured out how to open the fridge. She dumped one container of leftovers this afternoon and brought three juice boxes to me for straw help (for the record, I put them all back amid screams of protest).

She also dumped half a bottle of fabric softener on the floor. My fault, of course, for not putting the lid back on tightly, but honestly I don't even know how she reached it.

I keep my make-up bag in the kitchen (oven door is my vanity) and she was inspecting its contents after dinner.
"Your daughter," my hubby says with a smile. Over and over. She's got him wrapped around his little finger to the point that he never gets frustrated with her, and he's endlessly entertained watching me respond to her.

She drives me nuts some days.

Lucky I'm nuts about her.