August 23, 2011

Belated Birthday Post


I feel like a total caca-head for waiting this long to post something about P
K's birthday. I actually started it a couple of weeks ago, but alas, life got busy! My little monkey, the little love of my life has recently turned THREE. THREE! I can hardly believe it. She came to us on August 6th, 2008. That day, in the wee hours of the morning, the hubby and I arrived at the hospital as two. A few short hours later, our twosome became a threesome, with the birth of our lovely little baby girl (warning: the writing from the blog post about PK's birth kind of sucks since I typed it out sleep-deprived on my Blackberry from my hospital). I was thrilled and elated. I was mortified and exhausted. I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.

PK was just a little runt who couldn't do much of anything on her own when she was born. She fit along the length of m
y forearm. She had dark grey eyes and a pretty good head of dark brown hair that looked like a little fluff-ball after her first bath at the hospital. Today, my little runt has grown up to be a lovely little lady with brown eyes and golden-brown hair which flows down the middle of her back (still hasn't gone for her first haircut yet). She talks and sings and dances. Her new thing is jumping. She wants to jump off of everything. Steps. Ledges. Step stool. Rocks.

I can scarcely believe what it was like to care for an infant. To have to feed her constantly and change poopy diapers. To do emergency loads of laundry after being spat up on, peed on, pooped on, or all of the above. (Fortunately for me, the hubby was usually the one who was pooped on more often.) I can scarcely remember that first time we put her in her crib. How big the crib looked as she lay there,
a little burrito swaddled with her arms sticking out (she hated having her arms confined). I can scarcely remember having to prepare bottles with formula before bed. Warming formula in the middle of the night. Sterilizing bottles. Pumping my crappy supply of breastmilk for two hours before bed just to make sure that she got some. It all seems like so long ago.

PK can now drink milk out of a cup. She can (mostly) feed herself. She can take her clothes off, and put some clothes on (socks, underwear, shoes, pants, and jacket). PK can now pedal a tricycle on her own in spurts. She knows how to use a (three-wheeled) scooter. She makes friends at the park like it's nobody's business. She serves us pretend food. She invites me to sleep in her tent while covering me in blankets. She can write "H", "A" (upside-down), "O", "V", and "I". She can do a really funny-looking "R". She understands Portuguese, and can translate a number of words between English a
nd Portuguese. She can recognize her name in writing. She can type her name on the computer. Where oh where did the time go?

I swear that she was born just yesterday. Wasn't it just yesterday? She was too small for her newborn clothes. She looked so tiny and squirrelly, yet to me, she was the most beautiful baby in the world. She is mine. All mine. I am her mom. And to her, I am the only person in the world worthy of the word "mom". What an honor. What a privilege.

There are days when I swear that I want to tear my hair out. The tantrums. The "I want daddy" when I refuse to let her do certain things. Freaking out because I forgot to let her put the straw in the juice box by herself. Freaking out because we forgot to bring Baby with us on our way out. Freaking out because we didn't let her have ice cream after she refused to finish her dinner. There are days. Those days are trying. Those days make me want to throw my hands up in despair, yell at the
top of my lungs, and scream obscenities. It's so very tempting. But it's not the right thing to do. I have to remember that she's just having a tough time, a crappy day, or wants attention. I need to remember to compose myself and just roll with it. Very hard for someone like me to do. So very hard.

As with everything in life, there are the ups and there are the downs. Parenting does have its fair share of downs, but the u
ps are incredibly uplifting. They are the moments that put a smile on my face when I think about them. They are the moments that make my day just a little bit more bearable, knowing that this little person that I brought into the world is so excited to see me at the end of the day, an
d tell me stories about her day. Thoughts of her big hugs and her tender kisses just warm my heart.

PK is my little girl. She will always be my little girl. She will always be loved. Happy birthday, PK. May your heart always be big, your smile always sweet, and your dreams always endless.

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