Poetry and Pottery Barn

I'm sitting in the parking lot waiting for Pottery Barn Kids to open so I can pick up Wilson's bedding. I've dropped C off in carpool, driven through Starbucks, and felt I should break up my stereotypical SAHM morning with a little poetry on my phone. 

I have never read this writer, but I found this and loved it. 

"I was satisfied with haiku until I met you,
jar of octopus, cuckoo’s cry, 5-7-5,
but now I want a Russian novel,
a 50-page description of you sleeping,
another 75 of what you think staring out
a window.

 "

"Changing Genres" by Dean Young

While I'm pretty sure it's in reference to a lover, I couldn't help but equate it to motherhood, perhaps because we tend to mold things to our own surroundings. 

As I dropped off Catherine this morning, and watched her until she disappeared through the school doors, I drove away with this overwhelming sense of pride and fear and excitement all wrapped into one. I am watching her turn into a little girl before my eyes and it is beautifully terrifying. 

I read articles on how to nurture her into a strong woman. I mix in dump trucks and dinosaurs with babies and bottles to ensure she isn't sucked into a pink stereotype before the age of three. I teach her both the proper way to kick a soccer ball and to bake cookies. When we role play, I tell her she can be anything she wants to be. Sometimes she is a princess, sometimes a cowboy. 

I want her to be comfortable in her own skin, to know she is smart, to know she is kind, to know she is remarkable, but to know enough to be humble about it all. 

I want her to know I am amazed with her every second of every day. I want to write a Russian novel about the curls of her hair, the pursing of her lips, the inflection in her tiny voice as she tells me she loves me, arms outstretched, and says, "give me hug."

I want to spend my days soaking up every bit of her brilliance and my nights recording it all to memory, locking it away so that I may never forget this beautiful, terrifying, mystifying stage of childhood.

But alas, I can't possibly remember it all. I will simply soak in all that I can and hope the Russian novel in my head will stay intact, memories dog-eared for quick reference, for days when I am too tired or overwhelmed to recall the beauty of it all.

Toddler Talk

C has me laughing most of the time, even when I'm trying really really hard to have my stern Mommy face because what she said was inappropriate, no matter how hilarious it sounded in her little voice. So, here are a few of my favorites from my funny little two and half year old.

She knows too much...

The other day, we were running late for school and I sped up to make it through a yellow light. C promptly said, "Mommy, why are you going faster? Yellow means slow down!"

Big Sister

C talks to my belly a lot. She has chats with her baby brother (when she remembers he's in there and not just a bump impeding on her lap space). Overheard the other day:

"Baby, come out and play with Catherine."

"You hear me?"

<looks up at me>

"Mommy, I want to touch baby."

<hands on my belly> 

"Hi, baby. I love you, baby." 

<lays head on my belly>

Formal Greeting

We've been working on introductions and phone etiquette lately.

Overheard at the park:

<Arm outstretched, in handshake form, to a little boy>

"Hi, may name's Catherine. You want to play with Catherine?"

She also uses this method with family, friends, and toys.

Playtime

Playing with toys:

"I sorry, friends. It be okay. I take you home."

"I kiss you. It's all better."

<While pretending her toys are on a rocket (blanket)>

"One, two, three, blast off! To the moon!"

When frustrated

"It's too small. It's too big. I can't do it!"

And just some of my favorite Catherine-isms

"I so excited!"

"It's gonna be so fun!"

"It's gonna be so yummy!"

"Mommy, I love this book."

"I made it. You like it?"

"Great job! Thank you for helping!"

"What's wrong? Are you sad? Just be happy!"

"I do it myself."

"Don't throw ball. We don't throw balls. That's not nice."

Sleep

My family is slowly trying to kill me via sleep deprivation. They are winning.

I stayed up until 1:00 cleaning downstairs. As I headed upstairs to finally go to sleep, I was met with both Husband's bear-like snore and C's crying for her pumpkin. 

That's right. She's sleeping with the pumpkin she painted at school. She is obsessed with it. And because it is a pumpkin, it rolls, usually out of her bed. 

So, I retrieved the pumpkin, tucked her back in, sang a few songs, and left. I needed pajamas, so I dove into the mountain of clean and yet to be folded clothes in the guest/Wilson's room. I was so distracted by my inability to find clothes that I decided to fold some while waiting for C to actually fall asleep again.

That would have been an excellent plan...had she ever gone back to sleep. Instead, we began a seemingly endless cycle of her getting out of bed and coming to find me in fifteen minute intervals. 

I was far past the point of patience and turned into Mean Mommy, which isn't fun for anyone, and pulled out the big guns-the guilt trip. So I told C that Mommy can't sleep until she sleeps and that Mommy and baby Wilson are very tired. Then I told her not to get out of her bed until it was sunny outside. 

She said, "Mommy, I'm sorry," and then made me sing three songs before she would pretend to sleep again.

The guilt trip clearly didn't work as the cycle of visits continued for two hours straight. Finally, at almost 3:00, I picked her up without saying a word, marched her back to her room, stuck her in her bed, kissed her, then turned around and left. 

Mean Mommy is tired.

I watched her on the monitor as she fidgeted with her pumpkin, readjusted her blanket. Then, finally, FINALLY, she fell asleep. We'll see how long that lasts.

Update: it's 3:08. And she's up again. Seriously, why does she hate sleep?!

Silver lining? My mountain of laundry is now completely folded.

Our Son

Poor little boy. He's not even here yet and he's already suffering from second child syndrome. But, even though I can't focus 100% on him all of the time, I am 100% in love with him.

We've had a name picked out for months, but I kept waiting for time to share it. I was waiting for a break in life when I could sit down and tell the world that my son has a name. But, there is never time for anything unless I stay up until 1:00 in the morning. So, here I am. 

Before we knew C's gender, we were settled on a boy's name. She actually took us by surprise because we could not agree on a girl's name at all. So, when we found out we were having a son, we felt like we had a name. Then, we had to question it for a few weeks, saying it aloud, pairing it with his sister's name, writing it at the top of a piece of paper. But, even after all of our "testing," we were settled.

We both come from very Southern stock, so it's no surprise that we wanted to honor our family with his name. We just didn't expect to be able to honor both of our families simultaneously. Somehow, we managed to do so!

In January, we will welcome Wilson Arthur Ryan to our family.

Wilson is the maiden name of both of our maternal grandmothers (what are the odds?). It is also the name of Andrew's uncle, whom we love dearly. 

Arthur is my maternal grandfather's name, as well as my uncle's. Big Daddy is honestly my hero. He is one of the strongest and most selfless men I know and I hope his namesake makes him proud.

Wilson will also share the same initials as Husband (WAR), which I think is really special. There is so much stock in a name. Who will our son become? Will his name help or hinder him in his career? Is it classic? What will it look like in history books?

It is impossible to predict who our son will become; but it is our job to give him a name strong enough to carry him wherever he may go. I cannot wait to hold our son, Wilson, in my arms and call him by his name. I cannot wait to tell him how special he is and how special the people from which he is named are. Most importantly, I can't wait to tell him how loved he is every single day of my life. A name is only the beginning of his legacy.

Baby Wilson, we can't to meet you.

When You're Weary

I have been in a funk lately. Maybe it's because I've seen Husband a total of 24 hours at best over the past three weeks. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted from being six months pregnant and taking care of my very active two and half year old while Husband has to travel for work. Maybe it's because the "nursery" is still the guest room/laundry room and I have no clue when I will have the time or energy to get it all done. Maybe it's because I bought string cheese last week that expires AFTER my due date. Maybe it's because C is convinced there are dinosaurs in her room and incidentally refuses to sleep with the lights off, waking up multiple times throughout the night to tell me about it. Maybe it's because there is never enough time or enough money or enough patience. 

Maybe I'm just being dramatic. Maybe I'm just letting all the little things pile up and drag me down. Regardless, I'm tired, I'm anxious, and I'm losing my cool. 

So, tonight, I'm sitting down for a few minutes to write about it, even thought I still have to pack C's lunch for tomorrow and pack Husband for this week's travels. Because, after watching a poetry reading online today, I was reminded of what makes me happy - writing. I haven't let myself write lately because something else always seems more pressing than my sanity. I have errands to run and laundry to do and a very cute little girl begging me to stop cleaning the kitchen and come dance in the living room (which I do). I forget to count myself as a person instead of something else on my to-do list. I forget to give myself a break, even if it is disguised as a decaf latte and current pop music while C naps in the car.

I forget that I matter too. I think that's pretty easy to do as a mother. It's not intentional. I realize I'm a person outside of my role as mother and wife, but there isn't always time for me. I can't leave whenever I feel like it and grab a drink with friends. I can't just go for a morning run to clear my head. I can't be spontaneous. There are calendars to coordinate and babysitters to hire and prepping for said babysitters to be done, all while feeling guilty for leaving in the first place.

But this weekend saved me from myself. 

I spent two hours Friday night at dinner with friends. Two whole hours. We laughed and caught up and shared ridiculous college stories and I began to feel whole again.

Saturday, while Husband was in Tuscaloosa for the Bama game, I called a friend and asked if she wanted a latte, I drove to her house, and then, as C woke up from her car nap, we scheduled an impromptu park date. It was exactly what we needed. C got to play with her friends and I got to talk to mine. The stay at home mom world can be a lonely place. Yes, I get to spend my days playing, but sometimes I just need to vent to someone else who understands the stress involved. Sometimes, I need to use big words and laugh at myself and relish in the knowledge that I'm not in this alone. 

Sunday, I helped host a baby shower for my sweet friend and was able to spend time with some of my favorite women, including C and my mom (who let C sleep on her for two hours during the shower). 

Ladies, because of you, I found a little piece of myself this weekend. I found the renewed strength I so desperately needed. I am still tired and anxious and so unprepared to welcome a new life into this home; but I'm also happy and I'm no longer losing it when C colors on the kitchen floor or feeds her dinner to Banks. 

And because I have pregnancy brain and can no longer remember anything, I thought I needed a little reminder, at least for the next three months:

I put it on the fridge. No way I'm missing it there.

A Good Day

Today has been a really good day.

C started school last week. It was quite the adjustment. I knew she would love it...eventually. But I also knew the first day (and possibly weeks) would be tough.  We talked about how much fun school would be, we took the obligatory "First Day of School" photos, we sang "Grown Ups Come Back" over and over again on the way there. 

And when they took her out of my car, no tears (from her)! I was so overwhelmed with pride and anxiety and excitement, I blew her a kiss, put on my sunglasses, and cried for the next ten minutes. 

Well, when I picked her up, her little face was red and she was crying, but through her tears, she said, "Mommy, it's so fun." So, even though it broke my heart into a million pieces, I counted the day as a win.

Well, today, she literally woke up excited. She ate breakfast, got dressed, read books in our bed while I fixed her hair, and told Husband she was going to school and was "so excited." 

She told me it was "going to be so fun"on the way there, and when they got her out of my car, she told me bye, blew me a kiss, and didn't cry. I was crazy mom today and was very first in line for carpool. So at 12:50, when they put my baby in the car, she was smiling!! She told me how much fun she had and then did not stop talking for the entire ride home. She told me about her teacher, about singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider," "Twinkle Little Star," and "ABCD" and then sang them all to me. She told me she played outside with her friends. My heart was so full. I was so proud of my baby for being such a big girl.

Then I read the note from her teacher that said, "Catherine is adjusting well to school. She is so smart!"

And my heart exploded with pride.

We stopped for Yogurt Mountain on the way home to celebrate, where she ate mostly toppings and danced to the music.

It was only 2:00 and we'd already had an amazing day. After playing a little, it was nap time for us both.

As I lay on my left side and closed my eyes, I felt something I've been waiting for for weeks. I felt my baby boy kick. The feeling is indescribable. Our baby has been moving around for weeks, and at twenty weeks pregnant, I finally got to feel his little movements, tiny flutters.

With one hand on my belly, I drifted off to sleep, filled with pride for my TWO perfect children.

Today was a very good day.

Dinosaurs in the Trees

The other night, C and I were pulling into the lake house for the weekend when she said, "Mommy, shhhhhh."

Me: (whispering) What is it?

C: It's a dinosaur.

Me: Wow! Where is it?

C: It's in the trees. Don't worry. It's hiding.

Her imagination is in full swing these days and I am loving it. She lives in a magical world where everything talks and everything is real. 

While I cooked dinner the other night, I overheard her playing in the living room and walked in to find her enacting a scene with finger puppets. She had a princess puppet upside down in a rhythm instrument saying "help me, help me!" Then, the knight (which she calls a "prince") said, "to the rescue!" and got her out. Then, they kissed. 

Sometimes, her imagination is too close to reality. Today, while playing in her baby pool on the deck, she said, "look, Mommy, a mouse!" I freaked out and ran over to see what she was talking about. I asked her where it was and she pointed in the pool and said, "right there. See? It's swimming."

She often reads books to her stuffed animals; her babies cry and need bottles; her trains get encouragement as they crest the mountain ("Great job! You did it!"). Everyone dances. Everything has feelings. Everyone has a name (thought most of them are Catherine). 

I get to live in a special world these days.

The Top of Your Head

It is past my bedtime. I am staring at a pile of dishes in the sink, at the leftovers from dinner on the stove, at the toys strewn across the living room rug, and ignoring them all completely as I stare at the top of your head. You are sleeping, or you were sleeping. And as I heard stirring over the monitor, I glanced at the camera to see you sit up in your bed, adjust your animals and your blanket, and settle back in, snuggling your blanket against your cheek, curling to your side the way I do. 

You will be soundly asleep again soon, and I am left with the image of those curls, the curls that are the perfect blend of your daddy's and mine, perfectly formed on the top of your head. 

I spend most of my day seeing you from this angle. It is the first thing I see when I wake each morning to the sound of running, and look down from my side of the bed to see you as you say, "good morning, Mommy." I pat your curls before helping you climb into our bed, as Daddy hits the snooze button one last time for morning snuggles before the day begins. 

I watch the top of your head intently as you walk downstairs, slowly, one step at a time, one hand on the rail, the other tightly grasping your blanket. I trail right behind you, but don't touch. "I do it myself" was heard loud and clear, but I'm always right behind you.

I pat your head while I make breakfast. You perform an intricate dance of weaving in between my legs as you say, "Mommy, I help you." I help you into your seat at the table and stand beside you, pouring milk over cereal, or syrup onto pancakes, or juice into your cup. 

I sip water and watch you eat. I can never eat this early, but breakfast has become my favorite part of the day. We talk about our plans for the day. I look at the mess of curls on top of your head and think of how much you are starting to look like me.

I sit beside you as we play. We stack blocks, we play with your princess castle, we feed your babies endless bottles of milk of juice. We play with your train table until it collapses. All the while, I see the those curls on the top of your head.

We get ready for whatever adventures the day may hold. Per your request, I brush your hair into a ponytail or pigtails or simply a bow. I spray leave-in conditioner until your hair is wet, manageable, and once again, am reminded of my childhood, sitting still while my parents attempted to detangle the mop of curls on my head. You sit still in my lap, usually waiting patiently for me to finish. When I am done, I pat the top of your head, the signal that jumping and dancing and running are allowed again.

We continue with our day, whether errands or the park or the zoo, and I continue to see the top of your head. I can pick out your head as you scale to the top of the slide or slip into a group of other kids. I know your head. I know your curls. I know you.

I snuggle you in my lap for a movie before bed and my chin rests perfectly on top of your head. We sit that way for a while, quiet, content, and I forget that you won't fit there forever.

It occurs to me that you are growing and I am suddenly very aware of your height, of the distance between the top of your head and the bottom of my chin. As my belly grows and you sit beside me for bedtime stories instead of in my lap, my chin still finds the top of your head. As you insist on reading "all by yourself," I still pull you in closer to me, rest my chin on those curls and listen intently as you recite books from memory.

You are growing. Our family is growing. I know you will do more by yourself and need me less and less. But, I hope that somehow, no matter how big you get, that you will still find comfort as you snuggle into my chest until I can rest my chin on the top of your head - a simple reminder that I'm right behind you and everything will be okay.

Vices, Anyone?

Perhaps is it because baby girl slept until 7:40 this morning, or maybe Husband somehow willed himself to stop snoring for one night, but I woke up rested for the first time in a loooooong time and I'm giving most of the credit to my old friend, the Snoogle Pillow. It seems that, because my body already knows the drill, everything is coming earlier this pregnancy, including loose ligaments. So, I climbed up in the attic to rescue my old friend and I'm never letting go.

Ligaments aside, the second trimester is here and has started to work its magic. No more morning all day sickness, no more narcoleptic tendencies, and my skin and hair are finally starting to get that pregnancy glow. I still can't eat sugar without feeling dizzy, but let's face it, keeping me away from the pastries at Edgar's is probably not the worst thing ever.

I do miss my coffee, not because I've banned it, but because this baby has. I am a lover of all things coffee. Give me espresso in any form and I am a happy girl. I've cut out caffeine again this time around (mostly), but,  I can't even stomach the decaf. 

No sugar. No coffee. No wine. I need a new vice. I'll be taking suggestions.

Perhaps shopping?

We find out the gender of this little peanut on Thursday and I could not be more excited. I am so impressed with people who wait until the birth to find out. I don't know how they do it. I'm excited to give this baby a name and, of course, to sew a monogram on all things possible.  

C thinks it's a brother, but she also thinks my ultrasound photo is a cat, so we'll see. Her friend Sara thinks it's a baby bunny, and because of her recent visit to the Cabbage Patch Nursery, has informed me that you just count to 5 and then the baby pops out! Toddlers are funny. Here's to hoping for no cats or bunnies!

In case you're wondering what pregnancy looks like the second time around (and I know you all are), here you go. 16 weeks with each:

Two

This sweet sleeping face will almost make you forget about the hour long tantrum that preceded it.

Almost.

Tutu Full of Tears

I grew up dancing. Some of my earliest memories involve a tutu. My sister took her love of dance even further as she continued to dance through college and became a teacher. Needless to say, we've all been counting down the days until C was old enough for dance class.

Well, today was the day! She is taking a mini summer session for two and three year olds at Aunt Mallory's studio called Boogie Babies. It's four days for 45 minutes a day. They learn ballet and tap. It is pretty adorable.

So, we've been talking about this class for a while. We went to dance recital; we watched Aunt Mallory teach a class; she was getting so exited about getting to dance like a big girl. This morning, she woke up and said "I go to dance school!" After breakfast, she put on her tights and leotard with tutu and told me she needed her ballet shoes. The whole drive there, she kept telling me she was going to dance school.

Then we got there. 

She put on her new ballet shoes. She spun around in circles while we waited for class to start. She followed the herd of baby ballerinas into the classroom and sat on her very own dot. I was really impressed.

Then, they closed the door. And I heard the cry that was unmistakably hers. She was screaming "Mommy" over and over again. I sat down on the couch outside the classroom and thought she would start dancing and be just fine. I texted with Mom and told her what happened. She assured me that they wouldn't just let her cry and that if it was bad enough, they would just bring her out to me.

The door opened. They brought her out to me.

She was sobbing and begging to go to my car. I tried to talk to her about how fun it was and that I promised I wasn't leaving, but she was too upset. So, the teacher let me go back in with her. She put on tap shoes and partially participated while standing next to me and holding my hand.

At the end of class, they each got a piece of candy. She skipped out of the classroom, eating her candy, and said, "Mommy, dance is so fun!"

Seriously?

We're trying again tomorrow.

Ballerina Baby

C is certainly not lacking in the personality department. Her imagination has really taken off lately. She spends large parts of her day pretending to be something else (a frog, a dog, a chicken, a princess, a ballerina, a super hero) and expects us to play along too. 

If she is a dancer, I must also wear a tutu and spin around the living room. If she is Super Catherine, I must fix her cape and "fly" around the house. If we are frogs, I have to hop.

Today, she woke up in full ballerina mode. She wore her pink tutu, her ballerina shirt, and danced around the room with her Ballerina Baby (I danced too). When we went outside to play, Ballerina Baby came too.

Ballerina Baby wanted to slide and swing. Then, she just wanted to catch Banks (who Catherine has started lovingly referring to as "Catherine's Banks"). Catherine and Baby chased Banks around the yard until he finally sat somewhat close.

Success. As you can see, Ballerina Baby was pretty happy with herself.

Ladies Who Lunch

I haven't written as much lately, mostly because I am utterly exhausted all the time (a little side effect of the first trimester I had conveniently forgotten about); but also because C is in full out toddler mode, which is exhausting and exhilarating all on its own.

In other words, I nap when she naps now.

But since I left a pile of dishes in the sink, pushed the pile of unfolded laundry on our bed onto the floor, and went to sleep at the same time as a two year old last night, I'm actually awake after our toddler-tastic play date with friends.

We were planning to meet my friend Jessica and her two kids at the park when it started pouring, so we revamped and went to Barnes and Noble to drink coffee and watch our kids play with the train table instead - a decision I'm sure the employees appreciated. 

After letting them play and dance on the stage and fight over stuffed animals neither of us were planning to buy, we declared it lunch time and walked over to Panera.

Then chaos ensued. C wanted a sandwich, Ben wanted mac and cheese; but when the food was ready, it turns out that neither of them wanted the food on their plate. Abby (14 months old) was along for the ride, eating whatever we put on her plate while dropping things on the floor all around her. All of the sudden, C stood up in the booth next to me and started crying out undecipherable words, getting louder in her frustration, pairing it with stomping feet for emphasis. I could not understand what she wanted. 

So, I lifted her out of the booth and watched as she climbed in next to Jessica and started eating Ben's mac and cheese. Seriously. That's all she wanted.

I gave Ben C's turkey sandwich and they both sat, quietly eating, for the next three and a half minutes.

Remember when lunching with friends was relaxing?

On our way home, Jessica sent me this pie chart. That about sums it up.

Still, I'm so glad to have a friend living in the same crazy stage of life as me. Plus, she proves that it can even be done with two! 

In all honesty, I probably won't know what to do with myself when I can eat an entire meal, in one sitting, with both hands, without begging someone to sit down and just eat one bite (not that it is happening anytime in the next 3-7 years). I may have just cracked the code to avoiding too much unnecessary weight gain during this pregnancy - dining with a toddler!

No More Trampolines

I remember reading all of the rules of pregnancy when I was expecting C and thinking that the "no jumping on trampolines" was a particularly weird one. Now, I know that rule was clearly written for those who are already mothers of toddlers.

I scheduled a play date last week at iJump, a warehouse full of inflatable bouncy castles and slides, before even considering that I shouldn't be jumping up and down or going down giant inflatable slides with a thirty pound child in my lap. Why? Because #2 will be making his or her debut sometime around January 18th! 

We told family and friends a mere 24 hours after a positive test, but waited until the doctor confirmed that I was, in fact, with child before telling the social media world. I am the worst secret keeper ever.

C is pretty excited about it (as excited as a two year old can be). She calls herself "big sister" and kisses my belly all the time. She thinks poking my belly button tickles the baby. She also thinks the ultrasound photo looks like a cat.

We couldn't be more thrilled about this baby. I can't wait to watch our family grow.

For now, I'll just watch my belly grow (at a much faster rate than the first time around) and try to avoid trampolines.

Big Girl Bed

Friday night, while getting ready for bed, Catherine hiked her leg over the rail of her crib, said ready, set, go!, and climbed right out like she'd been doing it for months.

Uh Oh.

So, Saturday, we made a little trip to Buy Buy Baby for a toddler bed rail; and last night, I installed it while she "helped" by pretending parts were musical instruments and by jumping on the mattress in the middle of her room.

A couple last pics in her crib

We talked all day about how special this new bed is and what a big girl she is. She was genuinely so excited about it. After I removed the foot board,  I hadn't even installed the bed rail yet before she was in the bed.

In hind sight, I probably should have waited for Husband to come home from work and help me (that foot board is heavy); but I'm stubborn and I wanted it done last night, so instead, C learned how to use an allen wrench.

She climbed right in once everything was finished. I had to pry her out to put on pajamas (she refused to take a bath); and we snuggled to read a couple books she had chosen.

She picked Love You Forever (she calls it Back and Forth). It's like she wanted to make me cry. So, I read a tear jerking story about growing up and then my big girl climbed into her bed all by herself and went to sleep.

I watched her on the monitor until she was really asleep, then cracked her door open and left ours open as well.

I slept terribly. I woke up every hour and checked on her. I knew the gate at the top of the stairs was locked. I knew I had closed all doors besides hers and ours; but I was so worried she would wake up and feel scared walking in the dark or not know she could get out. 

Clearly, my worrying was for nothing, because at 6:30, I heard the pitter patter of little feet run into our room and felt little eyes staring at me on my side of the bed.

Big girl bed success!

The Boss of Me

C is a bit on the bossy side. Let's call her "opinionated" or "persistent" or even "driven"-it sounds nicer. She spends her days telling me what to do. 

Sit down, Mommy.

Stop it.

Mommy, try this.

Tonight, we were playing in the backyard. We have a steep hill on one side which Banks climbs so he can pace back and forth and bark at the neighbor's dog. C, of course, wants to go with him. I usually help her, holding her hands, trying to keep her (and myself) from tumbling back down. But tonight, she took her hand from mine, pushed me away, and said, "Mommy, go swing."

Seriously?

Excuse the dark iPhone pic. It was 8:00.

Then she climbed the scary hill all by herself. But, just as I was sitting on the swing, licking my wounds of rejection, she reached out her little hand and said, "Mommy, I help you" and I held her hand on the way back down.

Watching her gain independence is both exciting and heart breaking. I want her to have the courage to try things on her own; but, a part of me still wants her to run to me for help. Can't I be her best friend forever? No. No, I cannot. But, for a little while at least, I still hold the BFF title in her little world. 

I will simply cherish the moments when she grabs my hand, points to the sky and says, Yook (look), Mommy. The Moon!

I will love the moments when she climbs in my lap and says, Mommy, snuggle; but I will watch with pride as she loosens her grip on my finger and climbs mountains all by herself. That's my girl.

Bath Time Chat

While playing with her cow bath poof

Me: What does a cow say?

C: Mooooo

Me: What does a cow eat?

C: Bubbles!