This summer Anna blew through baby clothes sizes so fast I could barely keep up. 6-9 months, 9-12 months, 12-18 months. “Hmmm, this can’t be right,” I thought when shimmying a pair of 2T leggings on my 11-month old baby. I kept a very weather-inappropriate fleece sleeper in Anna’s drawer all summer because I wanted
I’ve spent the last few weeks feeling a bit sad, a bit in disbelief. Soon my fourth baby will turn one, and then she won’t be a baby anymore. Perhaps it will surprise no one at all to find out that I’m feeling very, very sentimental about this milestone. This time last year I was
Oh, hey there, month 11, where’d you come from? I spent this month reminiscing about this time last year when I was very, vey pregnant. I was so huge and exhausted. Making lunch and folding laundry, and just getting out of bed felt like walking up a mountain through three feet of water. I was
As I type this, everyone in Richmond is traveling from grocery store to grocery store, looking for bottled water and batteries in preparation for Hurricane Florence. And me? I’m prioritizing my girl’s 10-month update, because my neighbor told me that the last time a storm this big came through, our neighborhood lost power for TWELVE
For so long kindergarten seems like a far-off, abstract thing that other peoples’ kids do. But then it comes so fast, the school bus drives around the corner and the doors open and there’s no time. They start walking away and I panic. What do I tell them? What do I say? What do they
This summer will go down in history as the summer that Mary looked her fear in the eye, balled it up, and stomped on it. She became confident on her bike, is a completely independent swimmer, and went to summer camp all by herself. These are huge accomplishments for a little girl. Mary and I
Anna is nine months old, but when I sat down to write this post I accidentally wrote “8 months” in the title. I don’t think you can blame me. No one, not anyone, could be expected to keep track of the months when they’re moving as fast as this. I’m not exactly sure what happened
One afternoon David got off he bus, and as we walked home he asked, “Mommy, what kind of train does a Pokémon have?” “I don’t know, what kind?” I answered. “A PIKA-CHO-CHOOOOO!” I laughed hysterically, twice as long and as loud as the joke warranted on its own merit. But, you see, I’m not used
When David was a toddler, he was so difficult that Tom and I thought we’d done something wrong, we’d ruined him in a mere two years. In five years he’s changed so completely from the tantrum-prone, stubborn, volatile toddler, that Tom and I make note of it nearly every day. The toddler to big kid
There comes a time in every baby’s life when they realize they are destined to be bipeds — descendants of homo erectus. As soon as the baby realizes this, it is the only thing they can think about. Practicing standing becomes the baby’s only focus, their sole pastime. It’s their browser home screen, their phone