The strangest thing happened to me a few nights ago. I've been telling myself that it's perfectly natural, it was bound to happen, everyone warned me against this. Yet somehow I didn't REALLY believe it would happen to me.
You see, I've been planning Grace's 2nd Birthday party. I've made the invitations and they clearly say "Grace is turning 2." The cupcake toppers that I ordered say clear as day "Happy 2nd Birthday." I know somewhere in my brain that my baby is turning 2. The problem is that I can only understand this as a number. I can not understand that my little person is actually, well, a little person.
So back to my strange happening. As is my custom every night I ate dinner with my little family, gave Grace a bath, put her diaper and jammies on, brushed her baby teeth and tucked my little baby into bed, as I've done approximately 726 times. But when I woke up in the morning and looked around I realized, suddenly and forcefully, that my baby was gone and in her place stood a real, living, breathing, pint sized person. I know this must have been happening gradually, I think I just missed all of the signs. Sure, we turned her crib into a toddler bed over a month ago. Sure, we took down the changing table and along with it all visible baby signs (wipes, diapers, lotions, etc.) And yes, we did start potty training her a week ago and replaced our diapered bum baby into a big girl underwear wearing kiddo. But she's still a baby, right?
I woke up one morning and looked around my baby nursery. The nursery I've dreamed about since I was old enough to change a baby doll's diaper. The nursery I dreamed about when I got pregnant for the first time, and said goodbye to 3 times in as many years. The nursery I cautiously put together, piece by painstaking piece as my heart slowly allowed me to trust that the baby in my big 'ol belly might really be the one I got to bring home. I woke up one morning, looked around my nursery and realized it's now a little girl's room.
It's enough to break your heart into a million little pieces. That is, until you look at the little girl standing in front of you with those big blue "love me" eyes, with the dimple in one cheek and a gap toothed grin and you realize "I made that." While my baby slept every night in her pink and brown nursery, she was slowing taking in all her Daddy and I have taught her. Dreaming dreams of clean diapers and momma's milk, then sweet potato puffs and giggles with Dada.
And now as she rocks her own little baby doll she bestows on her little plastic person all of the love her Dad and I have poured into her tiny little soul. She sings to her, pats her back, gives her kisses and ugga muggas and tells her to sleep tight.
She may no longer be the innocent little baby I brought home almost 2 years ago and her room will change a dozen times before she (gasp) moves out of my house. But nothing can stop me from sneaking into her room at night to tuck her in and watch her sleep because no matter what color her walls are or what kind of bed she's sleeping in, she will always be my baby; she will always be my little love.
