I have looked up to find myself parenting three kids. Not one needs a diaper, so I emptied and donated the bag. I know that I should feel relief. But with each growth spurt I am left in shock. The fine art of flexibility I have yet to master because I am a creature of habit and routine.They will never again be needing bottles or bibs or any of those “baby” items. Instead my baby is suddenly talking a mile a minute and we all like to giggle at her invention in speech. “Yestertime” is yesterday. “Dinner egg” is gatorade. All her l sounds like y. She says “yeg” for leg and “bayon” for balloon which sometimes gets confusing. She can’t say all her blends so “spoon” is poon. We have squeezed her into the same shirts I put on Paul and Henry. Although they were so chubby they could have never worn it past one years old.
Here she is making an “Ollie bridge” and calling out for anyone and everyone to go beneath her bridge.
She is stubborn (like her momma) and silly (like her papa). She has been feeling the effects of our back to school routine. Sometime around 2 am I can expect her, her “yum yum” (blanket), and two baby dolls to end up in my bed. I love it. I cherish it. I know she won’t always be crawling in with us. So for now, this final reminder of a baby snuggled in the crook of my arm is too sweet to pass up.