Baby RK turned three today. This was the most special birthday yet, by far. When I told her last night that when she woke up she would be THREE, her eyes were saucers.
We had the most lovely day . . . a museum trip, a library trip, and a special lunch together.
And I recalled writing something down around this time a year 2 years ago, when she was about to turn 1. In some ways it seems 100 years away — I can hardly imagine her in a crib, or in a high chair anymore. Today we talked about ladybugs and aphids and camouflage. How have we gone from newborn to this, in only 3 years?
Below is what I wrote down, when she was truly still a baby.
That Little Girl in the Crib
In the monitor I see that little girl in the crib. Curled up on her side, hugging the stuffed version of the dog who wanted to be put in the zoo, the tail and her thumb both in her mouth.
That little girl who has been in this world for almost a year. Who was sleepy and wrinkly and yellow last March; who is sitting on my lap this morning, this March, this morning of March 1, eating puffs and cheerios while I write this. That little girl who can now show me where the sheep is in her room.
That little girl who was in my belly for 9 months before she emerged sleepy and wrinkled and yellow with a disturbing preference for Similac. Who, when she was a blastocyst in Tokyo, was already making me feel sick. Who I mistook for just feeling off and who I placated by downing 4 beers and singing karaoke with no idea that she had been made.
That little girl who we now call a big girl. Who we put into her Big Girl tot seat, her Big Girl stroller, her Big Girl bowl. These things that as my husband points out, she’s going to discover actual Big Girls don’t use.
That little girl who I would wrap up and walk endlessly with. Whom we forced to do Tummy Time. Who we never really know how to take care of, because she is the first. Who gives us invisible objects as appeasement for getting too close to something forbidden. Who makes me laugh harder than the best comics. Who makes me feel everything — sometimes all at once — and who is responsible for this life I am living right now that is so hyperaware and present and brimming with new directions that are a better reflection of me — the me I was long before this girl came into my life.