Because Tomorrow I Won't Remember...

...what I don't want to forget today.

You are 4. You are rotten. The end.

You call yourself the medium sister. No "middle" for you and you in no way fit the middle child mold. Your brownish blonde hair is unkempt and your bangs are always too long. Your eyes are big and as brown as chocolate and look just like your daddy's. You have the biggest toothy smile I have ever seen and it literally takes over a room.

You are funny. You are so funny and you know that you are funny. You have a unique sense of timing and can crack everyone up without even trying. You are emotional. You get your feelings hurt so easily and you are not easily persuaded to get over it and move on. You can pout for hours. Actually, a more accurate observation would be that you can be stubborn for hours. The pouting can be over but the stubbornness takes control and really just won't let you lose.
You know no strangers. You are every one's friend and have absolutely no sense of stranger danger. You tell everything you know and always have a story - even if it is not true. You get upset because I won't encourage you to hug every cashier or restaurant patron we encounter goodbye. I'm not kidding. You are genuinely sweet and caring, charming and friendly. You are the apple of your teachers' eyes and always ready for a friendly chat.

You are never quiet. You are always making some kind of noise and never, ever, ever stop. Even in your sleep you cry out with one loud sigh or another. You love sound effects and music, and are an incredibly talented singer. You learn the words to songs super fast and always have one in your mind that you sing over and over again. Sometimes, I don't even think that you realize that you are making noises, it just comes naturally.

You are always on the move. Whether it be jumping, climbing, twirling or just digging your toe in the dirt, you always have something to do. You are quite busy and rarely to you ever just sit for a break. You do not, however, put this exciting energy into eating. You are one of the slowest eaters I have ever known. But even then, you are moving.

You love to please those in charge. You are quite complacent and love to be praised for your first time obedience. You will do some things without being asked and are very aware of other's feelings. You are a rule memorizer, follower, and repeater. You love to tell the rules to others who aren't following them. I'm not always sure that this is because you are trying to be helpful but instead because you are legalistic.

You are independent, enchanting, entertaining, and emotional. You are headstrong and fun; one extreme to the other. You are my angel baby, my "medium" - my second born daughter.

I'm Scared I'll Forget to Remember...

...what you are like right this moment.

You are newly six. Your hair is past your shoulders and your smile is contagious. Snaggle-toothed, but definitely contagious. You lost your first two bottom baby teeth and like to tell everyone you meet. Your baby sister knocked you the other morning and now you swear that the top one is loose, too. You were thrilled with the tooth fairy and want her to come back again soon.

You are smarter than you should be allowed and finished kindergarten with flying colors. You adored your teacher, and the feeling was mutual. You quickly made friends and are an equal opportunity comrade. Your teacher commented to me many times how you are never tied down to one group, and are always looking for ways to make everyone feel included. You are becoming a viracious reader and just today received your first library card. You are so proud and feel so big because of it.

You are a worrier. You think things over and through and under and behind. Whether it is bees, dogs, wind or splinters, you always have something on your mind. You often miss out on some new things because you are so cautious. Sometimes you talk to us about these things and sometimes you hold it all in, but you are almost always processing something and weighing the pros and cons. You always look before you leap.

While you most certainly aim to please, you have your moments where your attitude leads me to wonder whether you are six or sixteen. You like to be in charge and don't always agree with my decisions or directives. You are stubborn but sensitive. You don't like to be wrong.
You are a wonderful big sister. You step into the mommy role as easily as you step into your flip flops. You love to give orders, threats, and hugs. The little girls look up to you and do most anything you say without question. You are beginning to dish out sage kindergarten advice to your next step down - "they do not allow bathroom breaks during nap time. If they do, everyone thinks they have to go. Make sure you go at the end of lunch" - and sister is soaking it all in.

You are a charmer, a pleaser, a pouter, a reasoner, a thinker, a friend. You are sweet and sassy, sugar and spice. You are and will forever be - my first baby.

Wonders Never Cease To Amaze...

Earlier today, Tater needed my help. She brought me two pieces of the tool set that PaTato had bought for his girls, which were tightly screwed together with the big plastic screws. She had tried and tried to unscrew them with her hands, but they were stuck. She asked for my help, but they wouldn't budge. She asked if I wanted her to bring a screwdriver from the set to help get them apart, and I told her yes.

"Do you need a Feel-up or a straight?"

She's 5. She's her Daddy's girl. And she blows my mind every single day.

The Best Purchase Ever Made...

When you buy something similar to these...

And then hear Tater say this:

"Tot - don't clean up all the dirt. Save some for me!!"

You realize that $1.68 (x2) buys a lot more than you ever expected.

Drama for the Mama

Let me preface this story by telling you that Sunday, in general, is the hardest day of the week for my little family. It is the only day of the week that we all have to be at the same place at the same time. It's hard to get three wee ones ready from head to toe, and I normally have nothing to wear. It is the day when it seems like our house shrinks at least in half, and anything that can go wrong does. I think that it's the day the Devil does whatever he can to try and get you to decide that you can't make it to church. I think that, while you are sleeping on Saturday night, clothes are wrinkled and keys are hidden and shoes are strategically placed to ensure maximum trippage capability. This is why I think that in order to take our stand against the devil's schemes, we need not only the belt of truth and the helmet of salvation, but also a little alarm button of some sort to help you find your keys.

The long morning and afternoon leads to an even longer Sunday night, which includes AWANAs for Tater and Tot from 6 to 8. They have a blast, learn alot, and really just run themselves ragged. So, needless to say, the kids are tired by the time we get home.

All of that (my word!) to tell you this story about Tot. Tot who, on this particular Sunday, was absolutely exhausted. Combine the exhaustion with a Benadryl buzz and a skinned knee, and you've got the perfect recipe for drama. May I present to you,

The Knee

complete with pictures

It all began with the first steps into the classroom. There was an unnoticed fall and a quiet comment about a hurt knee. There were no tears, no requests for kisses, and really, no one even paid attention. The fall was followed by two hours of play, a trip to the grocery store, and a walk into the house. That is when we saw it. And by we I mean she. And by she I mean Tot.

A spot of blood on her white tights.

A spot smaller than a penny, but with consequences as large as the sea.

The spot of blood led to the discovery of a small scratch on her left knee. A spot that was, in fact, smaller than the spot of blood on the tights. A scratch so miniscule, that you probably can't even see it in this professional photo taken by her father, The King of Shorts in Winter.

That scratch was then treated with an "icepack" that is about the same size as, well, the palm of her hand.

Little did we know that the wound would leave her unable to walk.

In case you can't tell, she's scooting. On her bottom. She scooted on her bottom from the living room to the dinner table, all the while proclaiming "I'm hurt! I can't walk! I need my icepack! I have a RED SPOT on my knee!"

It was a long, agonizing trip.

Even a steaming bowl of the best Spaghetti-O's in town couldn't stop the pain. Or the tears.

We did, however, have a medical breakthrough.

When nature calls?

All wounds are healed.

I Inturrupt This Regularly Scheduled Dormancy...

To let you know that She's Here!

Baby Spud #3 was born on September 4th, 2007 via scheduled C-section.
She weighed 8 pounds 1.8 ounces and was 20 inches long.
She is healthy, happy, and HERE!!

Tater and Tot are beyond excited to be big sisters! They love their new little sister with such force that I am truly blown away!

Lack of sleep and breastfeeding are certainly taking a toll, but we are blessed beyond belief.

I hope to be back here soon!!

Yes, We Have No Bananas.

So, today is the day that I have to make a confession. Well, two confessions. Everyone here knows that I have a 2 year old and a 3 year old, right? That's not the confession.

No, wait. I have an almost 3 year old and an almost 4 year old. That's better. Still, not the confession.

So, I have an almost 3 year old and an almost 4 year old - and neither of them are potty trained. There. Those are the two confessions.

Oh, yes ma'am, you heard me right. They are both in "training pants." But that is a lie. There is no "training" in "training pants." They are actually just diapers that go on a different way.

So, both girls are in diapers and I am pregnant with a 3rd little sprout and I guess it hit me about 2 weeks ago that if nothing changes that come early September I will have three, count them 1, 2, 3, in diapers. That is the hugest run-on if ever there was one. But again, 3 in diapers.

And, well, I kind of freaked.

Not the traditional "well, let's get this show on the road and get these kids trained" freaked. But more the "I'm a horrible mother and I've lost all control and I've missed my chance and I wonder if I can at least have them not wearing adult diapers by the time they start having to change into gym clothes in front of their classmates in junior high" freaked.

Now, I could go into a lengthy essay full of excuses as to why the Tater is almost 4 and not trained. But, basically, mommy guilt tells me it's all my fault. And the problem wasn't the peeing in the potty, but the poop. Oh.my.good.grief. the poop.

Sooo, the PaTato and I decided that it was time to take this thing head on. A smorgasbord of pretty underthings were laid out in plain sight in the living room. Threats were commanded. Promises were made. Praises were lavished.

No poop.

The girl would hold it for two days and then sneak, hide, and poop. In the two seconds that I would turn my head or the five minutes that I wouldn't remind her that she had to poop in the potty she would find a way to trick me. She obviously had a well laid plan.

So, fast forward to yesterday. Oh my good grief, you all are saying, please for the love of all things fast forward.

Tater hadn't "gone" for a day and a half, and we had pretty much beaten into her head that if she "went" on herself, there was big trouble. At lunch time yesterday, I decided to gorge her with food. The afternoon consisted of Spaghetti-O's with cheese, chips, juice, milk, pineapple, and apples, not to mention it had been a day and a half. No one little body can hold that much. Something was coming out one way or another.

It played out like this: she had to pee, she went to pee, she accidentally let loose of one little "poop ball." (her words, not mine) We celebrated. We yelled. We screamed. We called family. We ate M&M's. We ate a cookie with M&M's. We were excited. She went to play.

Then it hit her. She really had to poop. She ran to the potty. She sat. She pooped. She yelled for me. Then she said them - what have to be some of the funniest words I have ever heard come out of such a little mouth.

"MOMMY! I! POOPED! I! POOPED! IN! THE! POTTY! AND! IT'S! A! BANANA! POOP! A! BIG! BANANA! POOP! A! TEN! DOLLAR! BANANA! POOP!"

And it was. And, just so you know, I want to share with you what this Tater scored for a poop ball and a banana poop in the potty.

• M&M's
• M&M cookie
• a promise of underthing shopping with Mommy
• a promise of underthing shopping with Nana
• a one night slumber party in Mommy & Daddy's bed (can you tell we're selfish sleepers? this has never happened before!)
• a new book
• a promise of at least $2 from Nana
• a prize from Papaw
• ten crisp one dollar bills from Daddy

So, I'm proud, PaTato is proud, but most of all, Tater's proud. And I guess that is a step in the right direction.

One down, one to go.

Confessions are good for the soul, right?

Smirk.

Okay, so it's official. I'm a bad mom. It's 10:30. It's late, late, waaaayyy late, and my kids are still up. Tater is trying with all of her might to keep her eyes open. She had no nap today and has been up since before her four hours of preschool. She just laid down in the floor because she may not make it for another moment on this side of awake. Tot is full of rambunctious energy; laughing, giggling, running from room to room. Perhaps this is a direct result of a nap that lasted until after 7:00. I'm not sure.

The PaTato is getting the girls ready for bed. He changes one. He changes the other. He P.J.'s one. He gets ready to P.J. the other. He heads for the bathroom/laundry room/clean clothes catch all room. Ummm, the door is locked. Both of the children are on this side of the door and both of the parents are on this side of the door. This means that there is no one on the other side of the door to unlock it.

This is no problem, you see, because we keep the key to that particular bathroom door on the ledge above. For times just like this.

Times like this that do not include PaTato accidently knocking the key into the tiny gap between the wall and the door frame. Because we don't necessarily prepare for times like these.

PaTato is walking pretty much in circles trying to find something to either get the key out of the gap or unlock the door. He is having luck with neither. Tater wants to be held. Tot is following him to the point of being underfoot, giggling with glee. This is obviously some sort of game? PaTato is looking for the screwdrivers that used to stay in a particular little spot in the stairwell to the basement. They haven't been there since, oh, before the last time he asked me where they were. Maybe they are lost in a gap somewhere. It is then that I realize he is planning to take the doorknob off of the door. Surely there is another option, I think.

Me: Why don't you try one of the wooden skewers in the drawer?

Him: It won't work.

Me: Are you sure? I would just try it.

Him: It won't work.

Me: I think you should try.

Him: How do you know it will work? Have you tried it before? It won't work.

Me: I just think you should do it.

Him: (after getting the skewer) So what should I do with it? It has to turn. So how do I make it turn? It won't work.

Me: Just stick it in there and find the "click."

Him: (mumble, mumble, grumble, grumble) It's not going to work.

It works.

Me: (smirk)

Guess what's on top of the ledge of the doorframe.

A wooden skewer.

Because it does, in fact, work.

An Eavesdrop.

Overheard in the kitchen during hot dog dinner preparation:


Dad: Tater, do you want sauerkraut?

Tater: No, I don't like salad crap!


You can't make this stuff up. Seriously.

Yep, still sick.

So...I went to the doctor yesterday and he said I was sick.
Ha.
I have infection somewhere. It could be in my sinuses, my throat, or my right ear. He thinks it could be the same germ as the girls, so he gave me an antibiotic, some cough syrup with codeine, told me to take Musinex and Advil. Although I am feeling a little better, I'm now pumped up with meds that make me tired. So, I have nothing clever and witty to write today.

So, I figure I'll just link you to one of my favorite earlier posts. What?, you say. You haven't been posting long enough to have archives old enough to repost! Well, you are right. But maybe it'll be like NBC summertime Thursdays...you know, "New To You". Har.

I'm off to take more medicine. So read this. Seriously. Read it. It's funny.

I'm sick and tired...

...of being sick and tired.

I must say that it really stinks to be a SAHM and be sick. I have spent pretty much the entire day passed out on the couch, feverish, coughing, eyes burning, and trying not to swallow because my throat hurts so bad. Now, that would stink if you were any kind of mom, working or not. The problem lies wherein my children are home with me and know that I am sick, and that I'm probably not going to get off of the couch to dicipline anything they do. And I can't talk above a whisper today, so they absolutely can ignore my futile attemps at warnings. They really are smart little boogers.
I forgot to feed them lunch. They climbed on a chair to find chips and I half-opened my eyes long enough to open the little packs. They were probably drinking out of old cups. I almost forgot to give them their antibiotic. I have no idea how much candy they have ingested today. I can't bring myself to look for wrappers. They probably tortured the cats. And each other. And me, but I don't remember if they did.
If I took a picture of my house and posted it, someone would call someone so that someone would come and have a serious conversation with me. I have no clean dishes. I have no clean laundry. I believe that my husband has worn the same pants for two days. Or not. I haven't really looked at him long enough to know. There are toys, shoes, cups, diapers, clothes, candy, and anything else imaginable strung over every available space in my entire downstairs. And don't get me started on the upstairs.

I guess I should go to the doctor. At least then I would be sitting on the couch instead of laying down.

A True Story.

This is a true story.

I am sick. Sick, sick, sick. I am so sick, in fact, that I can't talk. I can only squeak and whisper. This is not fun. It hurts to talk, and no one can hear me.

The girls are sick. Sick, sick, sick. I took them to the doctor this morning and they were both diagnosed with bronchitis and prescribed an antibiotic. This is not fun. They are dazed and confused, and no one can hold their attention.

On the way from the doctor's office to a drive thru to grab some lunch, I had this conversation with Tater. Remember, we're sick. Sick, sick, sick.

Me: What would you like for lunch?

Tater: Huh?

Me: What would you like for lunch?

Tater: Huh?

Me: What would you like for lunch?

Tater: Chicky Nuggets and French Fries. And a toy.

Me: Well, you have to eat all of your food in order to get a toy.

Tater: Huh?

Me: Well, you have to eat all of your food in order to get a toy.

Tater: Huh?

Me: Well, you have to eat all of your food in order to get a toy.

Tater (clearly irritated): Just say "never mind."

Me (relieved): Okay then, never mind.

Tater: Huh?

If you find my voice, please bring it back.

A Letter.

Dear Miss Carry,

I don't even know where to begin. I don't know what to say to you. Who do you think you are? Who are you to come into my life and my family -quietly, slowly, deliberately - and take something that doesn't belong to you?

Why don't you leave? You have come and taken what you have wanted - so why are you still here? Every where I turn, every where I look, every time I try and turn my mind to something else, you emerge from hiding, you gloat, and you always find a way to remind me of what I have lost. And what you have won. Do you point and laugh? Do you claim a loud victory? Or do you stare quietly and intently, watching for the glimpses of grief?

I have to ask, Miss Carry, when do you leave? Or do you ever leave? Even as the weeks turn into months, and the months turn to years, will you always be around? Will you be around every corner to remind me of the sharpness of my pain? Will you be giving silent nudges to stir my sorrow? When others around me forget what you have taken, when no words are ever spoken, will you still find a way to show me what should be mine?

You need to know that you didn't just take from my womb, Miss Carry.

You took from my heart.

Signed,
Mommy

Here I Am.

Here I am. That's really all that I can think of to say right now. I've been away for 4 months. I've had some changes in my life; changes that I will talk about soon, just not right now. I have been drawn back to this world of mom blogs - life blogs really. I first came back by lurking, then by commenting, and now by attempting to restart this thing that I once enjoyed immensely. I hope to return to that place where I enjoyed telling the stories of my life.

Even the hard ones.
Even the sad ones.

But I'm here. And I guess that says something.

A little randomness - because I'm pregnant, and I can.

I don't know about you, but every time I'm pregnant, it seems as though my mind goes in 55 different directions. With that being said, this post will reflect the randomness of my mind.

• I should be packing for vacation. We are leaving this afternoon, and I still have tons left to do. Instead, I am sitting and reading and typing. And dry heaving. Fun times!
• My doctor's appointment on Tuesday went great. We are due February 10th, and I go for my first ultrasound in a couple of weeks! I'm so excited to see Small Fry! Sorry to dissapoint, but no pretend pregnancy to e-mail you about!
• I got Tater and Tot some tiny, tiny Crocs. They have toddler sizes now (6/7 is the smallest). They don't want to take them off. They wear their nightshirts, diapers, and Crocs. Tater cries to wear her's to bed. If you have a hard time getting sandals that stay on little feet, this is the absolute best way to go. With is awesome advertisement, the Crocs company are welcome to send me 2 more pair in size 6/7.
• I've been wondering if anyone wants to put any sort of guest post on my blog while I'm on vacation. Let me know if you wanna!
• Did I mention that I should be doing laundry and packing?
• Gilmore Girls will have new writers next season. I'm curious as to whether the show will be as good as it was in past seasons. I'm anticipating that next season will have to have some huge storylines to keep it's audience.
• My friend, Kelly, wrote a blog-length comment about her bosoms on my site. I wonder if she realizes that my dad reads my blog. Anyhoo, Kelly is one of the greatest storytellers I know. I think I will start a petition to have her share some of those great stories with us here in Blogdom. Maybe a rally of some sort, too. I'll post details as they become available. She is the one who introduced me to the big world of blogging. She's the one who should be here.
• I changed this post so you are able to see the picture without having to link to it. I did not realize that you had to be a member of something or another to pull it up.
• I'm taking my computer with me on vacation, so if I have time in between napping on the beach and napping on the deck and napping in the bed, I'll let you all know what is going on!

Thanks for tuning in and putting up with this static of random thoughts! Now, I must go pack.

BJH, class of 2006

Okay, here are the stats. 18 visitors. 3 days. 2 comments*. 1 uncool 7th grader sitting at the lunch table all alone.
I just assumed that after posting this, I would receive a little more fanfare from my Blogdom Junior High classmates and teachers. But instead, I'm the slightly overweight, new girl from the county schools, transfer at a really bad time, have no friends, un-cool girl sitting back at the corner table, picking at my pepperoni "pizza" and praying that someone, anyone, would think it fun to have a real conversation with me. And did I mention the teased hair and jelly bracelets? I guess some things never change. Or so I've heard.

Some people don't do it because they are hoping that people will actually read and comment. I'm not one of those people.

*Please do not think, Karen and Tennessee Mama, that I am not extremely thankful for your comments on said subject. I know where my friends are, and I will share the love. Thanks again!

Chocolate milk, Vegetables, Doritos, Kool-Aid, and a French Fry .

Question of the day...

What do all of these seemingly unrelated things have in common?








Oh no, dear friends, your eyes are not playing tricks on you. The + sign in the window on the left and the - in the window on the right , as far as I can tell, = only one thing. There is a hint of a tiny tater root growing in my tummy!

Now, let me quickly tell you what the above list of items have in common. Chocolate milk has been a staple in my first trimester diets for both of my previous pregnancies. This one is obviously no different. If I thought I could live on chocolate milk, it is all that would go in to my mouth. Vegetables also have been a common denominator for Tater and Tot while they were growing in my belly. Again, this is no different.
This is, however, where the food similarities thus far end. I haven't had a bag of Doritos in years. Until one night when, on an impulse and before a positive test, I picked up a bag to go along with my chicken salad and my quart (quart!) of chocolate milk. Then there is the Kool-Aid. I have always liked it. Never have had anything against it. It is not, however, my general choice when it comes to quenching my thirst. I like sweet tea, and can usually drink Coke by the gallon jug. But for the past few days, Kool-Aid is all I can think about. And it has almost been all that I can drink. I'm having a tall glass of black cherry as I sit here typing.

And then there is the French Fry. I guess that will have to be the name of the new addition to my tater patch. Although I don't believe that it is possible to grow tater tots or french fries, you know what I mean.
I feel a little "previous" (just for you daddy, cw, and td) in sharing this news with anyone before I have actually been to the doctor, I just can't hold it in any longer. My nearby, actually met in person, know their hair color and what kind of car they drive - friends whose faces I could pick out in a lineup (unlike most of my "blogdom" friends) - already know and may be wondering if I was only playing tricks on them since I haven't written anything about it here. Besides, Kelly doesn't have to be quite so ambiguous now! :)
If after two positive pregnancy tests, a missed period, dry heaves, extreme exhaustion, chocolate milk, and a plate of vegetables, I go to the doctor on Tuesday and they tell me it is my imagination, I figure every one will understand. If not, let me know, and I can keep sending you private e-mails sharing all of the imaginary details of my psychosomatic pregnancy. Either way.

Slacker.

To all of my adoring fans (yeah, right),
I know that you all are so dissapointed that I haven't posted one of my quick witted, yet emotionally gripping posts in a few days (yeah, right). So since you all are worried sick about me and my family (yeah, right), I thought I would just post a quick note letting you know that all is well, and you can sleep easier tonight (yeah, right). I have had a busy/lazy few days and just have not been inspired with one of my usual great stories (yeah, right). I have had many e-mails and phone calls demanding something, anything, to quench the thirst of my loyal fans (yeah, right). I will resume my duties soon, so please do not feel like you have to go to drastic measures (yeah, right) to ensure my return .
Thanks again for your concern (yeah, right).

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yes, today is my birthday (for at least 19 more minutes, anyway) and I got the best present from my Tater and my Tot...







...MY DOWNSTAIRS BATHROOM!! Just what I've always wanted!
And they even wrapped it themselves!

Thanks girls, this is the best Birthday Potty I've ever had!
Love,
Your old Mommy

Time Flies.

Well, tomorrow is the big day. My Tater is turning 3. Do you remember when you were a little kid, and it took three forevers for your birthday to come? How it seemed like no matter how hard you tried or how early you went to bed each night, tomorrow just never came quickly enough? I do. I remember how I just couldn’t wait for the expiration date on the milk jug to be a day or two after my birthdate. That meant that the time was drawing near. Slowly, but near.
Well, I have discovered that those days are completely and totally over. Gone. Done away with. Vanished. Disappeared. Because nowadays, it seems as though there are only two blinks between this birthday and the last.
It seems like just yesterday that I found out there was even a little root of a Tater in my tummy. My husband and I were on vacation. I took two tests. Or was it three? I called my parents at around 1:00 in the morning and asked them to “guess what?” I remember that first ultrasound where I saw a lima bean and a beating heart. And I cried. At twenty weeks when we knew that the “baby” was now a “baby girl.” I’ll never forget the Saturday morning induction when I knew I didn’t want to be pregnant any more, but wasn’t really sure that I was ready to have a baby. The next day was my birthday and mother’s day. And I didn’t really feel like I should celebrate either.
I think about that first week home and a spit up of blood, and my stomach still clenches in knots. Thank goodness my mama was here. If I didn’t have her to talk me down, I very well could have contemplated sending that Tater baby back. Oh, the trials and tribulations of breastfeeding.
It seems like only last week that I was just getting comfortable taking care of one baby, when I realized that I was going to have another. Tears still well up in my eyes when I think of the month that I was away from Tater while in the hospital with Tot. Tater needed me so much, but Tot needed me more. And I needed them both. Those same tears spill when I remember my much needed hospital visits from Tater and the sobs that would erupt from my throat when they were over. I had two babies and couldn’t take care of either. Then when I finally could take care of both, I felt as though I didn’t know either of them. A month is a long time for a mother of two who is without her two children.
I remember the second birthday party and a very excited Tater who got to dance to her favorite Wiggles songs. Two healthy babies made me want to dance, too. I think about the vacation to the beach and how excited we all were to put on our “baby” suits. Christmas trees and lights, presents and paper, carols and giggles. It came and went entirely too fast. It seems like as soon as we started hauling them up, it was time to pack up the decorations and take them back down. “It’s EASTER SUNDAY!” on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. As long as we can have chocolate candy eggs for desert, it’s Easter Sunday.
And today. Today is the eve of your third birthday . Tomorrow will come and go as fast as all of the other days of the past three years. We will have spaghetti and cupcakes, and you will be excited to give me three-year-old kisses instead of two. We will spend the day talking about all of the three year old stuff you can do, giggling about your butterfly birthday party on Saturday, going over for the fiftieth time who all will be coming to celebrate, and trying to teach your little sister the happy birthday song.
And then I will blink. And 365 more days will have gone by. I will wonder where the time went, be thankful that we had it, and cry for it to come back. Not because I don’t want you to grow, but because I will want to take back all of the moments that I regretfully let slip away.
But for tonight, you are my favorite two year old in the whole world. And tomorrow, that will change. For tomorrow, you will be my favorite three year old in the whole world, standing alongside my favorite one year old in the whole world and I will be the luckiest mom alive.