My baby turns four on Sunday. Four! She celebrated by puking in my bed last night. Oh don't worry, my bed is used to it from the previous night when Adrienne puked in my bed. My bed is Puke Central. Of course, I mostly feel bad for my poor, sick munchkins, but I also certainly feel bad for me. And my barfy bed. Happily, A got it all out of her system and has been a picture of health ever since. Fingers crossed the same goes for M because who wants to be sick on her birthday/Easter?!
In celebration of my dear girl's birthday, let me just say a couple things:
* Is there anything in the world like your first born baby? (That is my last semi-sentimental thought because I'm already crying. Lack of sleep does that to me.)
* Molly was 12 days late to enter the world. Twelve. Days. That's a lot of days when you're a giant walrus. I tried everything including eating macaroni and cheese with A1 sauce to get her out. Finally I bribed her: "tell you what, little baby, at some point before you turn four you can hurl in my bed. You won't be able to do that if you never get out of my Me."
* She was born on a Tuesday and theoretically should be "full of grace." Grace is her middle name, but that's all the grace my sweet girl has. "Tuesday's child is full of puke" might be a more appropriate line to the rhyme.
* Her baby book (and A's too for that matter) only goes to age five. I'm sorry, what? Baby book people? Do you HAVE children? Are they NOT your babies after age five?! It makes me insane. I want a baby book that goes to age 65 please. After that she can keep track of things on her own, but I think 65 is reasonable.
Have a fantastic Easter weekend, friends. Here's hoping everyone keeps their jelly beans down.