|the happy girl, lunching in park city|
People tell me Evie's still a baby. That when she's big and ten, I'll look back and even her kindergarten pictures will look babyish.
But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like my tiny baby is gone, and this little person that holds phones up and says "hewow," who drops things and mutters "oh shoot," who loves to brush teeth, who rocks and shushes baby dolls, and who counts to ten (though she omits one and five)... well it feels like I've got a little lady on my hands.
She goes to sleep on her own now. She loves to go to the library and read new books. Her favorite author is Olivier Dunrea (he wrote Gossie, Evie's favorite character is Boo Boo). She explores everything. She has longish hair. She adores Frozen, and knows a lot of the words to all the songs, which we listen to daily. She likes to scare us by growling and roaring. She loves the water and swimming. She adores animals, but is apprehensive about close encounters (be they dogs or fish in a tank). She picks up anything big or heavy, grunts about it, and hefts it around. She's a pretty good eater, she'll even eat spicy food and hamburgers.
So she seems like a grownup, walking around doing grownup things and getting into mischief. And then there are these moments when it just hits me that she's still my baby. I'm still nursing her twice a day, and while I'm getting to the ready-to-be-done point, there are times when she's curled up in my arms, nursing, and drifting off to sleep. Her cheeks are round and pink. Her eyelashes long and curled. Her chubby little hand rests softly on my neck. In these moments I think, How can she ever grow up?
|the famous squinchy face (grandma judy loves it)|
She'll be eighteen months old in just a few weeks. Soon we'll be tracking years, not months (remember when it was weeks, even days?). She's only going to be this inquisitive toddler for a short time, and I need to remind myself of that during the more challenging moments of parenting. Because it really is wonderful.