As I was falling asleep last night, I was thinking about your birthday party, which is only five months away. I don't even have to say how unfathomable it is that by Christmas, I'll have a three year old. I don't have to say that, because everyone knows. By then, you'll be old enough for solo swimming lessons, preschool, and Sunday School at church. Up until this very point in your life, you've exerted a strong sense of independence and will. You've always wanted to do things by yourself and on your own. Lately, I've been witnessing some regression on your part though; you're asking for more and more help regarding the things you've always done for yourself. Feeding yourself, getting dressed, getting up and down from chairs, bringing toys out from your room. I remind you that while yes, you can do these things for yourself, there is no harm in asking someone for help. I want you to be enabled to do everything for yourself, and on your own terms, as well as ask for and appreciate help as warranted. It's a fine line you'll learn to walk.
You remain the bright, sunny child you've always been. You have all your teeth now, even those last four molars that wreaked havoc on you. We're three weeks on this side of potty training, and you'll be wearing underwear for the rest of your life. Your bangs are long enough to tuck behind your ears, finally eliminating the need for a barrette or hair clip. You've been 29 pounds for months, but all your jeans from winter and spring are too short. You still thrive under structure and routine, you still hop in bed each night without a fuss, and stay there until I have to coax your warm, fuzzy body from sleep each morning. You're still the light that shines on both Daddy and I, day after day. You're the same baby we brought home from the hospital, all eyes and calm and the greatest blessing bestowed upon your people.
Shine like the sun, little girl.
Mama loves.
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