Tickle my tummy...

Remember how much fun it was to feel your stomach drop when someone pushed you really, really high on the swing?

And once again, I'm left wondering where exactly my baby went, and who this totally awesome little person is that took her place...

Brigid says...

This morning, Steve informed me over the phone that he and Brigid weren't friends anymore. Apparently, they'd had a rough go of it, ever since Brigid woke up, and it didn't seem to be getting any better.

He tried to get her on the phone with me, so she could tell me her side of the story, but B was having none of it. She was not up for talking to either one of us at that moment.

'She's being a bit of a brat,' he said, as he gave up chasing after her with the phone.

'Yeah, I a brat!' she responded, giggling like a lunatic.


At least we're all on the same page, I guess...

Movin' on up...

Steve and I have recently decided that Brigid is now of the age where we should start thinking about moving her out of her crib and into a 'big girl bed'.

(And by age, of course, I mean weight. I am old, ok? My back can't handle that kind of heavy lifting all of the time...)

Unfortunately, we made the mistake of mentioning this move to her last night...which...yeah...I know, I know.

Rookie mistake, right there.

She immediately started taking things out of her crib, with every intention of moving into the queen bed in the spare bedroom across the bathroom from her nursery, because much like her father (and, fine, her mother, too...), when she gets an idea in her head, she wants to act on it, RIGHT THIS MINUTE.

When we had to tell her it would take a few days before we were ready to give up the crib, she dropped her head in (what seemed like, according to her) the most anguished disappointment, ever, and started crying.

Really. We are terrible, terrible, TERRIBLE parents.

(That must be the answer, right? Because it's not like my child to ever over-react to anything...)

I can't wait to see what we get when we tell her we're not painting her bedroom yellow, like she's been requesting over and over and over again. Maybe I'll record it for you guys...it might end up being a performance for the ages, right there.

Nostalgia

I know that, as an adult, I should be over the 'magic' of the holidays by now.

I've been behind the curtain, and I've seen the secrets of Christmas presents and Easter egg hunts and money under pillows. I've moved past the 'wonder and amazement' era of my life, and into 'living vicariously through my child' territory.
And it's fine. Really, it is.

Because reliving the excitement of holidays as a kid, through Brigid, has been absolutely amazing. It's almost better than when I was a kid, in fact, because I appreciate the excitement more from the outside than I ever did when I was right in the middle of it.

As a kid, you don't know what it's like to lose that excitement. As an adult, it's already too late.

I haven't given up, though. Even if it's not the same as it was, I still love the holidays. I adore decorating and shopping and planning fun surprises (although I've fallen down a rabbit hole of planning fun surprises for Christmas as early as April, if my Pinterest boards are to be believed, and that may be the sign of a holiday problem, but whatever...), so I am grateful to my darling, devilish, and overly-excitable little miss, for helping me to maintain that holiday love any way I can, even if it isn't quite the same love that it used to be.

Still...it would be nice to go back sometimes, wouldn't it?

Geez, mom...get over it already. And FIND ME MORE EGGS, WOMAN!

I blame Steve...

No, YOUR daughter's Easter dress came from the merchandise tent at Augusta, complete with the little yellow Masters symbol on the chest...

 

Whatever. They make cute stuff, and she wears it well, I think...

Let's All Go Back!

Although you'd never know it by looking at ANY of the pictures I took of her last weekend, Brigid enjoyed her time at the beach.

(The absolute SECOND I ask Brigid to smile or even just stand still for a picture, I get the BIGGEST teenager-levels-of-disgust look you could EVER imagine. It would be impressive, coming from so small a person, if it weren't so damn frustrating...)
Don't get me wrong...it thoroughly knocked her on her butt, and she was kind of a grump-filled pain in the you-know-what for two day straight, but still...
She had fun.

How could she not, when her Nana was there to share an ice cream sandwich with her after every meal, her Papa took her swimming and fed her twinkies after every nap, and her Auntie did anything and everything she asked her to do, up to and including entertaining her for five hours straight on the drive down?

I love Atlanta. Steve and I have managed to establish a pretty great life down here over the last few years, and I don't think I'll ever really regret the decision to move.

But as much as I adore the way things have turned out for me since then, I hate that it's all had to happen so far away from my family.

I miss them. All of the time.

But I'm sure glad I have times like these to look forward to...

Baby at the Beach

Steve and I are on the way to Augusta for a day of Masters practice rounds and a par 3 tournament, so I haven't had a chance to go through all of my mini-vacation photos, yet.

But. BUT!!

I wouldn't ever leave you completely high and dry...





You're welcome.