I have exactly one week left until my daughter turns one…let the crying ensue.
It seems so surreal. For the longest time it was strange to think I’d actually given birth, became a mom, and had a daughter of my own. (Some days it still feels surreal!) And now I have to wrap my head around the concept that she’s not really a baby anymore but on her way to becoming a toddler. Waah, it’s not fair.
My friends try to tell me that it’s an exciting time, not a sad time. But it is sad. Yes, I love all the new things she’s doing and ways she’s growing and changing, but I’ll never have my cuddly little baby back. Not to mention that she’ll be a teenager before I blink. I know I shouldn’t be complaining — I’ve had the opportunity to spend a lot more time with her than most moms get because they have real jobs in the real world, but I want more time. I look at pictures of her from a few months ago and I hardly remember her chubby cheeks and roly-poly body. The way she cooed or flailed her arms around as if they weren’t her own.
It’s such a weird thing to be a parent. One minute you’re laughing hysterically filled to the brim with joy and the next you’re bawling your eyes out for no apparent reason. Just your everyday schizo.
I’m going to try my hardest not to act like a complete nutcase on her birthday. I’m excited for the huge milestone, but I might need to be shot in the ass with a tranquilizer dart especially once the singing starts.