Boopsie is 11 months old today… How did that HAPPEN?? She was finger painting today, for god’s sake!?!
I remember being pregnant last year at this time. I was hot. Hotter than hot. On fire hot. And afraid of being a parent — could I go the distance? Now I can honestly say deciding to have a kid (with Daddy-o, of course) was pretty much the best decision ever. I love being a mom. I’ll admit it… I’ve become one of those annoying parents who talks incessantly about her baby, whose poor coworkers know the gory details of the daycare dilemmas and whose heart rises and sets with the well-being of her family.
I remember giving birth (perhaps a story for another day, when I’ve had a drink or two) and meeting this baby and that was IT for me. I was done. Time to start the “pony fund.”
I remember wondering if I would ever be able to set Boopsie down. Now I have to trick her into snuggling into my arms because she would rather chase the cats and destroy the house. (A little something I call “Crawlmageddon.”)
I’m afraid of how I will feel in a month… I may be sad. She’s going to be a year old. A toddler. There’s definitely part of me that wants to freeze Boopsie just as she is — toothless, pretty much hairless, 18-ish pounds, crawling like a nut, holding onto tables and couches like a drunk sailor, and shouting “kiddy” at the cats. She flaps her arms like she’s trying to fly away when she’s really happy. She’s ticklish and gets spittin’ mad when you take her out of the swings at the park. And I love her so much it scares me every day.