When my daughter was born, she was completely unlike any baby I’d ever known. And no, I’m not going to launch into some diatribe about how beautiful and special EVERYONE (not just me) thought my child was, blah,blah,blah. Every parent thinks their baby is destined for greatness, so I’ll spare you that. Lulu was what the nurses kindly refered to as a “high needs” baby. Her Pawpaw called her a “handful”. Hub and I jokingly (kind of) nicknamed her “Lucifer”. Now, it wasn’t that she had colic or some other sort of medical issue, this kid was just Bored. This was not the kind of baby contented to lounge in her bouncy chair, ride in a car seat, or spend any amount of time on the floor. Tummy time? Not so much. She preferred voicing her shrill little opinion over any sort of pacifier. Toys did not amuse this one. The only thing that kept her happy was strapping her into the Baby Bjorn and taking a walk in the wide, wide world. Otherwise known as the back yard. Well she’s 2 now and nothing much has changed, with the exception that she can walk and holler more or less intelligible phrases. She’s since graduated from “high needs” to “spirited”, but is certainly no more easygoing. Her greatest delight is still the outdoors, a kingdom all her own where she can impose her will on the surrounding countryside with little intervention. As always, she rules with an iron fist.