Nineteen months is a good age.
I don't quite remember saying that with my first run-through (I think I was saying things more like "if this is pre-toddlerhood, I will never survive toddlerhood"), but the second time around, I am well aware that this stage isn't forever.
...no really, I won't end each day of my life with a dramatic collapse on the couch and a murmur about how exhausting life is to my poor husband who patiently refrains from reminding me I'm a total broken record here.
In reality, it's actually a pretty perfect little age.
Everything is funny at 19 months. Mama is a superstar and all I have to do is feed and twirl her. Nothing is off limits for copying. If Sophie says "yeehaw," you better believe a little voice will be echoing those cowgirl sentiments. Every food group is delicious, and if it's too spicy, just drink some water and go back for more. Black eyes and bumps and bruises are expected and simply indicate fun is being had. Running everywhere is essential... there is no such thing as walking for a little 19-month old.
And I still get to hold a little 19-month chubby, adorable hand (for the most part).
I love this stage. I know the battles of true toddlerhood are coming, but right now we're at this sweet little bit of life where laughter is abundant and workouts outside of the home are totally unnecessary. ;)