Mia's butterflies and flowers are Wallies, and so far I would heartily recommend them. Not too pricey, shipped quickly, easy to put up provided you have a supply of patience at hand (which is why I refused to allow Chris to help) and supposedly removable.
My kid looks like me. Or so everyone tells me. I see a lot of Chris in her, but I have been asked more than once whether he was in the state when she was conceived or if I just skipped the sex bit and had myself cloned. Thanks to spending every waking moment with me, my kid talks like me too. She apes my inflections, repeats things I say to her verbatim, and is very good at capturing my exact tone of voice to parrot back to me when she wants to push my buttons. I see a lot of myself in her in everything she does, which I suppose is only natural since I am her primary model at this point.
There's a lot of Chris in her too. She loves music in any form, she has his lips, and when she gets mad, she throws things. She also refuses to eat, goes into a crashing and ugly low blood sugar inspired tantrum, and then still refuses to eat anything, preferring to behave like a little beast and make my life miserable. That one is straight out of her father's playbook.
Mia refused both breakfast and lunch yesterday and spent most of the day screaming at me about it. Then she declined to consume dinner. Ah well, maybe she'll eat today and I can stop searching for ways to knock myself unconscious just to get a break from the whining.
And thank you, but no, I do not want any advice on getting my kid to eat. No, really. I mean it, sit on your hands if you must while you fight the urge to type. There, see? It went away.