It’s December 17th, one week till Christmas Eve. We started a tradition of sorts, C^3’s Gigi picks out her Christmas Eve outfit. It’s precious – and she gets really excited. Although it’s not quite what I would have picked out, I have hopes of shopping excursions in the future with the two of them (soon to be three of them) picking out dresses. My Grami often supported my dress habit for special occasions, so I fully support this.
This year, the dress makes C^3 look like a little girl. It’s because she *is* a little girl.
Wha? Where did the last 18 months go? When did I fall in step with the day-to-day so completely I missed seeing this turn of events? I am still in awe of my daughter. New words that come out of no where (seriously, our pediatrician said she didn’t have a speech delay, she was just lazy), new feats that shock us, new expressions that float across her face. There is so much to her world – and I love being here to see it.
K may be starting a new job with the new year – and after four years of underemployment I’m not sure anyone is more excited than me. Except for the fact that it means C^3 will need to go to daycare. Real, full-time, daycare. And I can’t afford montessori no matter how I try to scrimp and cut things from my budget. I hated daycare, which is perhaps why I’m so against it… That and this kernel of weird, primitive, motherhood that says I need to raise my children not some school. Wha? Where did that come from? Where is that buried inside my soul?
Meanwhile, my daughter loves Mickey (gag!), all things Rudolf, asparagus with hollandaise, and Christmas lights. Each Santa she sees, she calls “Bop!” which is her name for her grandfather. She likes to paint and mix cookies and has devised a game I affectionately call “hug” that consists of round robin hug giving. While watching White Christmas, she took off all her clothes and proceeded to dance around the room – arms outstretched – to The Best Things Happen While You’re Dancing.
Oh, baby girl. You slay me.