Her? Baby. Cute.
Delicious.
Distracting.
I have?
Did I mention the great connection we have? How I can understand her completely?
It's a mother's intuition.
Pensive.
Flabbergasted.
Workin' it.
Sceed. 
Bustin' a cap.
Usually though, I get this:
Which melts us all into little puddles of submissive slaves. And she's on to it. Oh yes, she knows exactly what she's doing.
I love to see them together. I love it when she calls her "little child".
I giggle because, really, who can be more little than Chichi?
Then I realize that soon she'll be 4. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she will be all grown up. Tomorrow she will be too big for me to coddle and smooch and nibble on.
Eh, who am I kidding?
I once heard that americans crave three bastic tastes: salt, fat, and sugar. 
Pretzels. (salt)
M&Ms. (sugar)
By the way, I'm a markin. (pull out your drawl for that one)
Hugs. (fat)
Of thee I sing.
Even better:
nom nom