One prime example is how they wake up.
When Payne was a young toddler, he always woke up happy. Gleeful even. He would yell cheerfully for us as soon as he was conscious, and grin when we came in the door. As soon as he verified that we were there to retrieve him, he would happily turn around to hang his blankie on the back of the crib and reach out, chattering.
Genevieve wakes up crying. When I go into her room she squints quickly at the light I turn on, then stares down at the mattress. I ask her if she's ready to get up, and she huffs a resigned little sigh. She then looks around for her blanket or Creepy Tiger Doll, and joylessly grabs it before leaning slightly towards me while rubbing her eyes, all "Alright, let's do this. I've got to see a guy about a Cozy Coupe at 9."
I love them.
Oh, and I'd say G is a walker now. It's been a longer process for her, with the delightful side effect of almost no goose eggs, bloody noses, or split lips (unlike the results of her brother's literal "head on" speed walking self tutorial). She is pretty confident now and is even moving from the adorably stiff legged Frankenbaby stage, to a real gait. I even caught her trying to run yesterday, so I can probably put off rejoining the gym for, what do you think, the next calendar year?
(Does showy grabbing back of foot stretch, pins number to own back)
Bring it, girlie.