This is the third time I've tried to post. God knows how I keep losing the posts between "preview" and actually posting it, but I do. Anyhow...
I feel like my children's childhood is slipping away from me, and so I hope to be able to chronicle some of it here where they can read about it later. They are so precious and so maddening, and they get bigger every day without me noticing until- wow- another outfit outgrown.
My oldest, E, will be 5 at the end of the year and she wonders every day when her birthday is coming. She's still at the age when birthdays are welcomed instead of dreaded. I'm still right there with her, I guess. I haven't started dreading them, per se, but I definitely hear my own age and think "Damn, that's old. " She is gorgeous and loving and too nice for her own good.
My middle girl, KC, my beautiful infuriating girl, turned 2 in April. She is so full of herself and she can't stand to miss one minute of life. God forbid she should go to bed early or sleep in, because then something might happen and she wouldn't be there to see it. She does nap- unwillingly- but if she didn't I don't know that she and I would both have survived thus far. I have to have breaks from her so that I can still love her at the end of the day.
The baby, W (no, not
THAT W), will be 7 months next week and I think that if he gets any bigger I won't be able to stand it. He thinks Mommy is queen. Damn right she is. He could spend 90% of his awake hours sitting with me, I think, without getting restless. He has this lovely fluffy hair that makes you just want to kiss his little head. He is the sweetest of my babies- but they're all sweet when they're babies, aren't they? That's how we manage not to kill them when they're toddlers.
When did I get to the point that I find my own children growing up unbearable? This post-partum depression stuff is not for sissies.
