Sunday, January 6, 2013

My Perfect Baby

Cory's latest adventure is trying to teach Lucy to say how old she is. He will hold up two fingers and say, "You are two Lucy. How old are you?" And she will usually reply with something random and completely unrelated.  I think she moo'ed at him once.

And this makes me so happy. Because I am not ready. When he tells her she is two, I just want to shout "No! NO! My baby is only one!"  Please don't take away these last two weeks of my having a baby. January 25th is both a blessing and a curse.  Two years and nine months have gone by far too quickly.  Lucy turning two is going to be harder on me than me turning 30.

I really hope Happy Joe's serves beer.

I'm not sure why this is hitting me so hard.  She is healthy and strong and beautiful.  I can already see her wit and sense of humor.  I can feel her empathy and caring.  She is the perfect little girl.  Maybe I'm scared that each minute that ticks away is one minute closer to the time when she realizes how uncool I am and no longer wants to be close to me (I am really really uncool).  Maybe it has more to do with that the older she gets, the sooner I will have to make an actual decision about having another baby (uhh....).

I am being melodramatic here, but I know I am not the only one who has felt this way.

I am not looking forward to the day she actually fits in my shoes.


I've noticed, since Cory started trying to teach Lucy her age, that Lucy is obsessed with the number 2.  She won't tell us how old she is, but she will bring me things - two of them - and gleefully declare "two!"  Genius.

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