Sunday, November 3, 2013

Mobile Moments, 10/28-11/3

I'm achey and beat; a day's worth (and beyond) of exhaustion has sunk deep into my bones, but I press on. My mind and my fingers are compelled to keep going just a little longer, a bit further, as a tingling hum of happiness continues to cloud out most of the rest of it for just a few hours more.

I was in the throes of a similar uber-exhausted, joyful haze three years ago today. After spending nearly nine months in anticipation and 15 hours in good, hard, labor, I'd finally been handed my first tiny miracle shortly before 12:00 that afternoon. I could swear it happened yesterday, or rather, many decades ago.

Either way, I can't quite believe it. I don't suppose that I really want to just yet. My baby girl is three. Three. So far now from where she used to be; even further from where I imagine she'll end up someday. She's done it right before my very eyes, and yet I swear I missed it all the same.

Certainly, I missed the days that led up to this very one, consumed as I was in party preparation, focused as I was on not messing up Halloween, engaged as I was in Halloween festivities, distracted as I was by Mia's seven-month milestone and continuing teething troubles, pleased as I was by Abby's sudden, giant leap into binky independence.

As the evening wears on and the pleasant buzz begins to change over to sleepiness, I still have only one thought left in my head, now.

My baby is three. My baby is three.

She can't get there herself yet, but she can sure maintain the position.

Abby and her little shadow.


The most determined little candy-collectors you ever did see.

Success is sweet.

Scheming trio.

The floor: Her new favorite place to be.

Before the party.

Pretty Princess finally got her ice cream cake.

It seems that Michael will have a buddy to play "cars" with.

Overheard this week:


"I'll sit at my desk, doing important things that I do."

Sung proudly and perfectly, in response to a chorus of "How Old Are You Now?": "I'm free (three) years old, I'm free years old, I'm free years old, I'm free years old."

Between Tom and Abby

T: "Do you want help [getting out of the car]?
A: "No, I'm just going to sit on my butt."

A: "Is the ceiling [of Wegmans] brown?"
T: "It's a kind of reddish-brown."
A: "Just like my hair!"


"I want to go upstairs." (We really think that's what he said, anyway. Kid's got spunk, but he's still working on his diction.)


{chomp chomp} That blister finally broke open today, and we now officially have the beginnings of two front teeth.