She’s growing up.
I mean, she is just two. So we have plenty of time.
Except that we don’t.
And I’m trying to make this time last.
I indulge us both by carrying her – down the stairs, outside, through the grocery store. She can walk just fine. She is a healthy little girl and not getting any lighter. But I like holding her close to me as we go from place to place. And in a few more months or pounds, this carrying will just not be possible. And oh how I will miss it.
The pressure is on to potty train. Her best friend is potty training now. She seems ready. But once we trade diapers for undies, it will be clear that she is not a baby anymore. She may be ready. But I don’t know if I am.
I didn’t think I’d be this Mom. And in the beginning, I wasn’t. I encouraged each new milestone – rolling, talking, crawling, walking – I anxiously awaited them all and never looked back.
But now? I’m holding on to sore arm muscles and diapers?
And yet, at the same time, completely logical.