When I was around eight months pregnant, The Dad installed the baby's carseat in the truck.
When I went to practice fastening and unfastening, in that cold, frigid garage with my giant belly, I couldn't do it.
I cried my face off at my inability.
That was not a pretty picture.
Mama Disch, I am sure you remember. You were there.
So we returned that particular model STAT.
And found one that worked.
And eventually housed our real-live baby girl.
I sat right next to that carseat on our 11-mile ride from the hospital home, too.
That was nearly four years ago.
That carseat was dismissed from active duty over two years ago.
And today, we moved onto bigger and better things:
That's right. Baby's in a booster.
And Mama's in a perpetual state of disbelief, and panic.
Oh, get used to my melancholy drama. It's only getting worse, and gaining momentum, as the days forge toward December 7.
She sits with her legs crossed when we get coffee, sitting to chat.
She understands the concept of time- how many more sleeps until ... etc.
She loves preschool.
She's completely done with sippy cups.
She wants to know where she was the day her Mama and Daddy got married.
She defends her dog.
She remembers her stories.