Abby has a favorite color, and it is purple.

She can spot purple a mile away. "A-purple, momma!" She knows the purple pillow on the couch is hers. "Ah-my purple pillow, Penny. Penny peenk. My purple." If I dare to try to put clothes on her, you better believe they're going to be purple, OR have a character on them, OR be ballet clothes, but only the RIGHT ballet clothes.

(A ballet dress is called a "la-la-la-la," all four syllables, because of the Angelina Ballerina theme song. If I wear a dress, she tells me "Momma la-la-la-la!")

We were walking down to the softball field on Sunday. She was wearing her new purple dress (but not the leggings that go with it -- "NO purple, momma. NO purple pants." It was breezy: she stopped walking, pushed her skirt down, and yelled, "Purple windy! No purple windy, momma!"

I still nurse and rock her to sweet, snuggly sleep. The other night I bent over her crib as I gently placed her onto the mattress; she stretched out, flipped over, and murmured "Purple, Momma."

I didn't know I could love a color so much.