My baby turns two tomorrow. Two! TWO YEARS OLD!
I have not found a single soft-focus pregnancy cliche to be accurate—okay, it is pretty cool to feel the baby kick, AND I suppose giving birth was pretty rad, too, what with the epidural and all, but I clearly am not a "pregnancy is a glorious, glowing time" kind of girl.
Sappy Hallmarky sentiments about parenting are another matter, however. The years really do fly by! You really do have to cherish every moment! They honestly do grow up so damn fast!
Just yesterday I was coaxing my child to eat her first bite of pureed sweet potatoes, and now she's demanding cake and cookies at every meal.
Just yesterday I was bouncing her up and down on a Pilates ball (ultimately used for neither Pilates nor labor) for hours on end to get her to stop crying, and now she's consoling me when I can't pull it together. (She always is quick to offer a hug and a kiss—today she also offered her Magna-Doodle and her Fisher-Price push-"popper" to cheer me up. And wouldn't you know? It worked.)
Just yesterday she screamed bloody murder every time the car was stopped at a traffic light, and now she gleefully cries out "red yight!" from the backseat. (Granted, her next words are usually, "Geen, pease!")
Just yesterday I was wondering when the fuck labor was going to FINALLY START, and now I am the proud mama of a daughter who wows me with her creativity and curls and stubborn sass—not to mention her love of frosting, which surpasses even her love of cake.
In the meantime, when did my baaaaaaby get so grown-up?