In my particular case, this is the most interesting person I have ever MADE. The selection is not one of favoritism. Rather, she possesses the qualities I do not, in purity and with eager fervor. 

Josephine: A few months before her 2nd birthday

Her eyes open in a swift thrust of kinetic enthusiasm. Heedless to the time of day or night, she is well rested. With her blanky perfectly tucked under her slender arm, she springs out of her crib, landing silently, with the exception of the morning’s first giggle. She completely undresses, and picks out the only necessary item of clothing; her shoes. She adorns the left foot with mom’s red high heel, and on the right is one of her big brother’s muddy rain boots, stashed stealthily along with most of his favorite toys, under the bedskirt of her crib; it’s location having been unknown to him and her elders since January. Unable to reach the knob of the closed door, she flips over her sock basket. With one full tippy-toe plus wicker basket reach, the door bursts open to her smiling delight.  Down the stairs she slides, quickly, but, backwards on her bare belly, for her limits she knows, and her left shoe is seven sizes too big. 

As her blond curls bounce, spunkily rebounding with every hopping step, she plays a few notes on the piano. What she lacks in skill, she makes up with verve.  Her interest quickly turns to the rumbles of her belly, having just been emptied on the marble floor from last night’s dinner of six plates of ravioli. She appreciates the cereal left within her reach, and pours six million cheerios on the table and the floor. She eats them with attention, enthusiasm, and vigor, thinking only of their taste. Surely, though, no meal is complete without a marshmallow. Noticing the shoes, she picked with deliberation, she slides them off her feet, so as to utilize the grip of her feet, a bit too agile. She tiptoes to the pantry, because, whole bags of white fluffy sugar for breakfast is usually frowned upon, so too is climbing up five shelves, to where the treats are hiding. 

The first shelf is just as easy as the fifth, and its nice to climb without her brother’s laughter ruining her cover. The bag, not yet open, doesn’t bother her a bit, for her teeth are just the right amount of sharp to chomp on through to sugar. A few grocery casualties are had upon her climbing. Her notice of those tiny strands of skinny angel hairs spread haphazardly on the floor and in all of its cracks do not cause a moments worry. Nor, do the approaching footsteps, growing in both pitch and tempo. 

“Josie!!!!” squeals her mom, in dumbfounded exasperation by both her freedom and location. 

“Morning mama!” she replies. “Marmemmo?” offering her hand and its sugar slobber mixture.