Two

I can't believe we're here already.  And yet, I feel like this is the place we've been forever.

My sweet Baby Girl, if I can even still call you that, you are going to be two tomorrow.  Two years ago, I was putting my hand to my stomach and asking you to please come meet me, wondering who you were going to be.

Now I know.

Today, you call me mommy.  You say "Oh yeah!" when I make you dinner and "Oh noooo!" when you drop something on the floor. You say letters by name when you see them, and you know that lions roar.  You can climb on anything in the whole house, and you have no fear of the tallest slide at the playground.  You give the best hugs, and you give them generously, just like mama.

Sometimes I look at you and I see a caricature of myself.  I mean, I know I'm a hugger, but I don't go so far as to hug the coffee table . . . do I?  You put your sunglasses in your purse before climbing on your ride-on car and saying "byebye!" and I shake my head, wondering if that's what I look like to you.  You feel your feelings so strongly, both the highs and the lows.

But you aren't me.  You are you, your own brave, social, goofy self.  You know what you want and how to get it.  You love to be around other people, and you know how to make all of them love you.

There are days when I'm not sure what do do with you in all your spiritedness, but there are no days when I know what I'd do without you.

Happy birthday, my sweetest big girl.  Thank you for coming into our lives, and thank you for being exactly who you are.

One

One year ago, I was in a hospital, holding this tiny, precious little person in my arms.

One year ago, she could only see far enough to see my face.

One year ago, I could only see far enough to get through the day. Through the hour.

And now here we are.

She cruises around the room holding onto the furniture. Prattles "Dadadaddatata,gah!" with such fervor. Eats frozen waffles like they're going out of style (but they're not). Hands me toys to play with. Climbs into my lap and wraps her arms around my neck.

I'm not sure how we got here.

I am sad. I miss the tiny bundle of cuddles that could sleep in my arms for days. I miss the tiny fingers closing around mine, then the little toothless smile. I miss her babyness.

But I love this little miss I have now. I love the way she plays with me, the way she emphatically makes her desires known. I love the hugs and kisses and the way I know she is doing it on purpose. I love the look on her face when she discovers something new, when she sees something in the world for the first time.

I've never been very good at change. I want to say I'm not ready.

But it's not really about me.

And on this day, nothing is changing. She isn't growing up, I'm not letting go. Today, we are celebrating the first year of Baby Girl's life, the first year of my life as a mom. Today we are looking back with love at every one of those precious moments and looking forward to all the wonderful things we'll be able to do together for years to come.

One year ago, Baby Girl, you and I had no idea what we had in store. Today, I think maybe we do.

Happy birthday, sweet child. But I'm still going to call you my baby. Always.

The big car seat

Last week, we took the infant car seats out of our cars.

Baby Girl is 10.5 months old, and even though she isn’t quite too heavy for the infant car seat, we decided it was time. We had one convertible car seat already, and DH found a very felicitous clearance on them at Target so we could get one for the other car. We went out to the driveway at 9:00, after I put the baby to bed, and installed the big car seats in both cars.

And I cried.

My husband gave me a funny look. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to miss the infant car seat.”

“But this one will be more comfortable. And it has better head protection. Don’t you like our baby’s head? Why don’t you want to protect her head?”

“...I like her head.”

“Okay then.” And he continued tightening the car seat.

But it’s sad. It IS sad, right? I didn’t think we were here yet. I’m not ready for her to grow up.

. . . Which is not to say that sitting in a rear facing convertible car seat is the mark of a grown up. But still.

When I had a newborn, I couldn’t wait for her to be able to smile. I couldn’t wait for her to be able to roll. I couldn’t wait for her to be able to crawl. I couldn’t wait for her to be able to talk.

(Okay, I still can’t wait for her to be able to talk. Although she might be signing now? She claps her hands when she wants more food. I’ve decided she means more. Or maybe she just likes clapping.)

But now I miss her being a bundle in my arms. I miss her letting me cuddle her 24 hours a day. I miss being able to put her down on the floor and have her stay where I left her. (Wait. . . what?)

I’m afraid that she’s not my baby anymore.

But I like her now too. She’s so much fun. I love her laugh. Her tiny teeth are absolutely adorable. She likes bread and cheese and crackers, just like mama. She can get down and dance like it’s nobody’s business.

So maybe it’s okay. Maybe we’re ready for the big carseat. Because I really do like her head.