They Grow Up So Fast

It seems like my kids just won’t stop growing up.  Brutus is walking finally. Boo is [sort-of, almost, will it ever really happen?] potty trained.  He is finessing his fine motor skills by throwing applesauce at the chandelier.  She has perfected the indignant eye-roll of a fifteen year old.

It seems like only yesterday, she was a pony-tailed 3 year old playing with dolls and now . . .

Four Eyes

Now she appears to be a scholarly college student heading off to take a final.

She looks so grown-up in her new glasses (she’s apparently the unlucky recipient of her dad’s bad vision genes.)  Luckily, not many people can pull off bright pink frames with rhinestones, but she looks adorable!

Hopefully no one calls her four-eyes.



I just can’t stand those mom’s who seem to know everything!  And, no, I don’t mean me.  I just pretend to make up for my many insecurities.  You know the ones I’m talking about.  The ones with a van load of kids who have pretty much been there and done that for everything.  And they always tell you things you don’t want to hear.

I’ll use one of my best friends Roslyn* as an example. Roslyn has six children which includes a set of triplets.  TRIPLETS.  That means THREE teeny, tiny, crying babies at one time. I would need to be sedated for 18 years to survive that!

Roslyn is always telling me that one day I’m going to miss having a sweet baby around.  I’m going to miss rocking a baby to sleep. I don’t know what world she lives in, but I have had PLENTY of rocking to sleep.  I’ve spent more time rocking a screaming baby in the last three years than I have spent eating, sleeping, and showering combined!  We are in our first week of training our child to sleep in a bed without having to be sound asleep when put there.  And no, I’m not talking about the baby.  I’m talking about my three year old.  Add in the much shorter (but long enough) year we spent rocking my son to sleep before he figured it out on his own, and its enough to make my head spin.

Sweet Baby

Miss this?  Really?

Sure! And do you know what the worst part is?

Roslyn is right.

She is always right.  My 15 month old son doesn’t want to cuddle with me before being put in his crib.  He doesn’t want to nurse.  He doesn’t want me to sing to him.  He just wants me to put him in his crib and walk away.  And as wonderful as it is that he doesn’t need hours of rocking each night, I wouldn’t mind if he needed at least ten minutes.  But he’s too wiggly and he knows he’s ending up in that crib anyways, so he might as well just get it over with.

Why did she have to be right? Next thing you know, she’ll be telling me it’s time for me to have another baby.  And we all know I’m not. Right? RIGHT?

Oh, no.

*Name has been changed to protect the person who apparently is always right.


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