Sometimes I'm hit with the reality of being a parent. This little girl is mine, my daughter, my responsibility, my everything. I'm the one that gets up with her at night, that makes her breakfast, lunch, dinner (and a million snacks in between), puts bandaids on her boo-boos, watches Mickey Mouse Clubhouse for the hundredth time, and teaches her her letters, numbers, and colors. Every day is a day that she is older, smarter, happier.
We went to the park, the three of us (!) over the weekend for a birthday party. The weather is gloriously transitioning to Spring and you'd better believe we're going to be spending lots of time outdoors. Miss A LOVES to be pushed in a swing. She says "weeeee" as soon as she sees a swing and "weeeee" while we push her. The rest of the play equipment? Forget about it. The swing is where it's at.
She munched on her own huge piece of fried chicken, ate a whole cupcake, and half of mine. She said "Wow!" when her Dada pointed out the tall trees and "oh cool" to the Thomas the Train party decorations. Just like that, she became a little girl.
But still, I'd like to sleep, baby girl.