I don’t often blog about family happenings. Not for any particular reason; not trying to keep my glamorous life a mystery or anything like that. Mostly it’s because when I blog, I try to keep it focused on my writing and my hobbies. It’s my writing blog and author page, after all.
And then sometimes things happen that leave me so flabbergasted that I can’t image writing about anything else. Like, for example, that this girl is three years old.
It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. And yet at the same time, it feels like it was hardly any time ago at all that I sat on the sofa, chowing down on Doritos and playing Tetris and wondering when labor was going to kick in enough to warrant actually going to the hospital.
This is how life changes.
I mean, I realize that a lot of what hazes the past few years is probably the fact that she’s only slept through the night all of about five times. I mean seriously, this kid really, really hates sleeping. But she’s also grown ridiculously fast. Just the other day I was sitting at the table, marveling at the way she can walk, hold her apple juice one-handed, and drink from a cup with no lid without spilling all at the same time. It might not seem like a lot, but it wasn’t that long ago that she couldn’t even hold her head up.
Where did this fiercely independent little girl come from? When was my snuggly little Eevee-baby replaced with a sassy and hot-tempered toddler who can count to fifty and recite a dozen books from memory?
It’s a slow creep, the sneaky passage of time, changing things without you even realizing. And at the same time, everything seems to move in slow motion when you’re a parent. I’ve completed three books and a novelette since she was born. Yeah, only three. It pales in comparison to what my friends have accomplished, but I’ve also helped teach someone to walk, to talk, to recite her alphabet and tell me all the colors you can find on her My Little Pony collection. And while it means my other work is slow, at least my important job is taken care of. I’m not a perfect mom, but she’s happy.
And as she grows, it’ll be easier for me to balance the job of motherhood and my own ambitions. She’s learned what it means when I sit at my computer in the evening; she takes her father’s hand and tells him how “Mama’s gonna do some working!” just before she leads him to her room to play. Not that it stops her from creeping back out here to stand beside my chair, bat her eyelashes and say hi. It also doesn’t stop her from leaning close enough to add a few extra letters to the words I’m typing, leaving a few surprises peppered through my manuscripts. And she’s a good typist, by the way; she knows where all the letters are, even the ones where the letters have been rubbed off the keys.
And today, she’s three.
I wish I could say I am glad to leave the Terrible Twos behind, but she’s only grown sassier as she grows taller, so I fully expect that three will be even worse, in its own magnificent way.
And since I’m averaging one a year with a little one in tow, maybe you can expect book number four before she turns four.
Happy birthday, little Eevee. My little love.