Hanging On

I remember when I was younger, watching the movie Dirty Dancing for the first time and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how anyone could end up being called “Baby” into their 20s. Well, scrap that. Now, I can totally believe it. I completely understand how that could happen.

Lately, I feel like I am losing my baby. 2 years old is looming out there (less than 2 months away!) and I find myself clinging to every baby-like thing that she does. We still call her Baby. Every morning when I bring her downstairs or when her father walks in the door at night, he exclaims “Hello Bay-bee!”

When OBB treats her less than gently and I try to explain to him the need to be careful around her, the words still pass my lips “she’s just a baby”.

She still sits in a high chair and sleeps in her crib. Thankfully, she hasn’t had success at getting out of either one of these yet. I still feed her oatmeal every morning, as she sits there with a stuffed animal under each arm, trying to wake up and opening her mouth like a little bird as the spoon nears it. I still carry her more than I probably should. And I love the fact that she still has a couple one-piece rompers that she fits into.

However, as much as I would like for her to stay a baby forever, she’s growing up. She’s getting tall (big surprise) and is talking more and more. Some of her favorite words are “juice”, “mine” (most often used in the presence of her brother), “shoes” and “hat” (you gotta respect fashion sense that starts this early), and the long-time favorite “goggie” (that would be doggie). She likes to color with crayons, look at books, dance to music and brush her hair (what there is of it). She’s much more social and outgoing than her brother and won’t be taken advantage of by anyone. Recently, she was engaged in a tussle over a toy with a 4-year-old boy at a playgroup we were attending, and I hasten to add that she held her own quite well. She’s generally happy and easy to be around, but has a healthy flair for the dramatic when she deems it necessary.

After spending 4 years raising a boy whose reactions to situations I sometimes struggled to understand, it is refreshing to parent someone I get. Even during the times when she does lose it, I usually know why, and quite frankly, more often than not, I tend to agree with her.

And while part of me can’t wait to see the girl and woman that she will become, another part of me aches at the prospect of my last baby entering the pre-school years. So if you see me at the mall, shopping with my daughter, sitting in her stroller with her long legs hanging out and her feet practically touching the floor, please just look the other way. And try not to laugh.