Almost 21 Months… Or Something Like That

44950815_697678983939879_2083281798254559232_nIt’s so easy to lose track of time. Often I don’t even know the date on the calendar, let alone the number of months it has been since M’s birth. Of course, it doesn’t really matter, but I used to document it all, each milestone, each moment I wanted to hold forever.

And, lately I’ve been keeping those moments in my head, hoping I’ll remember to write them down. Usually I forget. But the words keep rushing in, poetry dancing, begging to exist on paper or at least a screen.

Her eyes change with the light, little pools of brown turn muddy blue.

Words bouncing around as I made dinner and forced myself to reach for my phone so I wouldn’t forget.

She’s changing so much right now. She went through this phase for a few weeks where she refused to go to sleep until eleven each night, and I nearly lost my mind, but I remembered this is what happens with developmental milestones. And sure enough, next she started climbing out of her crib, forming three word sentences, and attempting to use her little potty all at once. In one single day my baby transformed into a two-year-old. It felt like all we did was blink.

And, two-year-old she is, (unless you count the months on the calendar). I’ve carried her out of many public places lately kicking and screaming. I’m that mom with that kid that makes other people turn to look. But, the second time around, I don’t care. I just laugh and carry her. There’s nothing more to do than that.

I do get loud sometimes for effect. Mostly when I’m across the room and can’t reach her in time to safely fix the situation. Then her eyes well up with tears and she refuses to look at me. She’s so stubborn and yet her feelings are so delicate. So different from her sister who’d just stare back at me with that “so-what” look on her face.

Without the crib, I now lie down on the other side of the room and wait for her to start her nap. Otherwise, she just gets up and plays 17,000 times. As I lie there, she pops up her head and looks at me, to see if she can escape. I point and say, “Lie down,” and obediently she listens. It confounds me. Here I have this independent child who follows directions (at least for a minute) when I get serious. Again, so different than her sister.

And, those curls. Still, those curls.

Almost 21 months and I needed to make sure I’d be able to look back and remember her, just like this. Her sister is already so big and toddlerhood is suddenly a season again, not this daunting stretch it sometimes seems.

Last week we got a kitten and she was one of those women who cries happy tears because she’s just won a house or a car or something huge. She was in hysterics. So much so the next seventeen years of caring for that creature were worth those moments of excitement, the word “kitty” uttered again and again between the tears and the shrieks of joy.

I don’t want to forget.

Those curls, those eyes, that little hand reaching out to hold mine, ready to show me exactly where to go and what to do.

 

 

 

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