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╰┈➤ from 1 to 2 years old

Tentative steps turned into confident strides, and soon she was running, burning through boundless energy. Some days, her parents didn’t exactly love it—“your turn to follow her,” one would grumble from the couch—other days, they fought for the right to play catch with their tiny tornado of a toddler.

At sixteen months old, she already had a favorite person, and it wasn’t Mom or Dad; it was her big brother, Nate. If given the choice, her chubby arms always reached for him, ignoring everyone and everything else. Her parents had no choice but to accept their fate as second and third place, undeniable even in the fact that her first word wasn’t ‘da’ or ‘ma,’ but ‘bo’ — a potential clumsy attempt at the ‘bro’ she heard so often.

The only times she sat still were when she was fiddling with picture books, pointing at the prince, the horse, the big castle, demanding her parents repeat the words over and over again. And soon, her love for those books spilled into art, with bold strokes of color across paper when it was within reach, and across walls and furniture when it wasn’t.

By the time she turned two, Ivy was a storm and a rainbow all at once; chaotic but beautiful, fearless in a way her father both envied and admired.

“Remind me never to try and tame her,” Ronan murmured to Sophia one afternoon, watching their daughter chase down a butterfly, “because she’s perfect just like this.”