Tomorrow my baby girl will be 3 years old.
Tonight I thought to myself that this was the very last night I would be tucking in my 2-year-old Adelaide. The last time I’d be singing her 2-year-old self the special bedtime song I made up for her when she was a newborn.
I looked at the framed portrait of her on her first birthday, with her little shark-fin hairdo, her mischievous little impish grin. I can’t believe that her baby years have gone by so fast.
I remember the way I felt when they put her in my arms for the first time at Lake East hospital.
I was weak, tired and still drugged from my C-section, but her rosebud lips and sweet chubby cheeks were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. (Well, since my other two babies were born, anyway.) I felt a fierce, protective love for her immediately.
Life with her since then has been so much fun – she makes me laugh every day with her low, elfin voice, her constant questions and her repetitive use of my name:
“Mom, did you see that, Mom?” “Mom, will you dance with me, Mom?” “Hey, Mom, can I have a cookie, Mom?” “Thanks, Mom! Mommy, thanks!” “Mom, good morning, Mommy! Did you have a good nap? “Oh, Mom, I love ya, Mom!” “Mommy, you are the best mommy!”
There are random things that I love about the 2-year-old Adelaide: the way she refuses to sleep without the covers up over her head. The way she wears her red sparkly “Dorofee” shoes everywhere she goes. The way she asks, “Can I give you a kiss and a hug?” before she throws her little arms around my neck. The way she puts her little hand in mine when we walk to the mailbox. The way she rolls, then squinches up her eyes and grins a sideways smile. The way she sings “What would I do wifout you?” at the top of her lungs in the car. The way she drops everything to “shake it” when she hears music start to play. The way she shadows me all around the house, “helping” in her own little 2-year-old way, informing me that “Mommy, I’m following you, Mom!”
She’s growing up as fast as she can, running as fast into her future as her little legs can carry her. For now, she’s always the last one to finish the race; she’s always tripping and getting boo-boos and running to me to “Kiss this boo-boo, Mommy! Kiss it Mom!”
I know she’s ready to be 3, and she’s so excited about her birthday party and her “pink cake wif a star on top.”
Though I will always cherish my sweet baby girl, my chatterbox 2-year-old, I can’t wait to find out what joys her next year will bring.
-from my Mama Says column on www.mentorpatch.com
