"I am NOT Happy!"
This is a kid who started walking and talking at 11 months--when she was still wearing 3-6 month sized baby clothes (all the girls in our family are very petite)-- and hasn't stopped since. She is extremely articulate and loves words for their very sound as well as for what she can communicate with them.
DD2 frequently gets so caught up in what she's trying to communicate that she forgets to pay attention to what else is going on around her--if she's busy talking she can fall off or over just about anything because she's more interested in what her mind is doing than in where her body happens to be at the moment. Yesterday she fell off a stack of servers at Daddy's office and landed on her head, simply because she was telling a story and forgot she was sitting 2 feet off the floor. (She was ok, by the way, but she's certainly my most fearless and injury-prone child.) She takes after her mommy, whose mother thinks it's hilarious. :)
When she was first learning to talk, DD2 learned the word "animal" and was SO proud of herself--now she didn't have to actually learn the names of any of the animals. We'd point to a cow and say, "What's that?" and she'd get this cunning/delighted look on her face and shout, "It's a ANIMAL!" Well, she was right, wasn't she?
One of the first phrases she learned (and used a lot) was, "But Mommy, I'm suffering." I still don't know where she came up with that one, but she'd combine it with a pitiful look and trembling lip until I had to step out in the hall to laugh before coming back in and solemnly informing her that she could NOT have a third glass of water--it was time to go to sleep.
For the past week her trump card has been a minor scratch on her knee. It was pretty small in the first place and is almost completely healed now, but it's her excuse in any situation. She will be running around playing and dancing, but when I ask her to do something she doesn't want to do she experiences an amazing change.
First, she starts limping or just collapses on the floor, holding her knee with a look of intense pain on her face, and then she says in a breathy, low voice with a catch and a grimace in it (a very good imitation of the way someone talks when in real pain), "I can't (wash my hands/pick up my toys/come to dinner/whatever) . . . I have an ouch on my knee. --But, Mommy, it really hurts really bad! See, I can't walk." It's amazing to me that she can keep that tiny scratch in the forefront of her mind to pull out at the drop of a hat a good week after it had to have stopped hurting.
I call her Little Miss Personality Plus.