Today, I watched Evie realize that when she waved at me, and I waved at her, there was a connection between the two gestures. She had waved at me before, but it wasn't until this morning that she realized I was waving back at her.
It made her laugh. A lot.
About three weeks ago, Evie learned to crawl.
A few days later, she grabbed onto an endtable and pulled herself to standing.
In a matter of moments, my baby was gone, and a toddler now lived in my house.
I'm starting to understand why most parents feel compelled to have more than one child.
Just when you start to feel comfortable with a stage, you realize that it's over.
All those hard-earned baby soothing skills, obsolete.
All those tiny onesies and sleep sacks, outgrown before they could wear out.
All those tender newborn moments, dissolved into the ether of memory.
A year ago, I hadn't met my daughter, except for the occasional bout of hiccups or swift kick to my belly.
Now, she knows how to high-five, feed herself Cheerios, greet the cat appropriately, and obliterate a box of Kleenex.
In five weeks, she'll be celebrating her birthday.
It's all a little much.
Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine that I'm still pregnant. It's a lot easier right now, as winter melts into early Nevada spring.
I remember my total disbelief when I imagined that I'd be sharing my life with a new person, one who wore diapers and looked vaguely like me or Sam.
I remember taking a bath the night before she was born, while my mom watched American Idol in the next room and Sam finished setting up the bassinet. I feared I would never make it out of the tub.
I remember riding in the backseat on the way home from the hospital, holding Evie's tiny head upright because she was too little to reach the newborn pillow on the carseat.
Last month, I put that same carseat away, as she had outgrown it altogether.
My tiny little baby is gone.
Fortunately, she's been replaced by the sweetest toddler I know:
Cheers.
It made her laugh. A lot.
About three weeks ago, Evie learned to crawl.
A few days later, she grabbed onto an endtable and pulled herself to standing.
In a matter of moments, my baby was gone, and a toddler now lived in my house.
I'm starting to understand why most parents feel compelled to have more than one child.
Just when you start to feel comfortable with a stage, you realize that it's over.
All those hard-earned baby soothing skills, obsolete.
All those tiny onesies and sleep sacks, outgrown before they could wear out.
All those tender newborn moments, dissolved into the ether of memory.
A year ago, I hadn't met my daughter, except for the occasional bout of hiccups or swift kick to my belly.
Now, she knows how to high-five, feed herself Cheerios, greet the cat appropriately, and obliterate a box of Kleenex.
In five weeks, she'll be celebrating her birthday.
It's all a little much.
Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine that I'm still pregnant. It's a lot easier right now, as winter melts into early Nevada spring.
I remember my total disbelief when I imagined that I'd be sharing my life with a new person, one who wore diapers and looked vaguely like me or Sam.
I remember taking a bath the night before she was born, while my mom watched American Idol in the next room and Sam finished setting up the bassinet. I feared I would never make it out of the tub.
I remember riding in the backseat on the way home from the hospital, holding Evie's tiny head upright because she was too little to reach the newborn pillow on the carseat.
Last month, I put that same carseat away, as she had outgrown it altogether.
My tiny little baby is gone.
Fortunately, she's been replaced by the sweetest toddler I know:
Cheers.
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