Both the kids are asleep right now. Lucy June cuddles with her owl, a "transition object," on her crib mattress on the floor. Please, child. Take the owl. Love the owl.
(She generally sleeps best when pinching my stomach skin with her toes, so this kind of independence is rare and welcome.)
Jake didn't fight naptime today. All I had to do was run him around at the park in the sun for two hours this morning, lie down with him for ten minutes, and then promise to buy him a toy.
Worked like a charm.
So now I'm left with a few minutes to think and write to the tune of a white noise app.
It's one of those reflective weeks because Jake turns three tomorrow.
I suppose that makes me a three year old mother: slightly more even keeled but still prone to massive fits when overtired.
So today you get to humor me as we take a little walk down memory lane. Mama's a little nostalgic.
There was the day he was born.
So young and so clueless.
We brought him home to a little apartment that we shared with some possums who fell onto our stove and died in our ceiling.
He got baptized.
He grew up a little bit.
He never let us sleep.
He turned one, started walking, and started talking. I complained about him cutting some molars only to find out subsequently he'd actually had Roseola. I was a very with it new mom.
I did crafty toddler activities and expertly juggled work and motherhood.
He turned two, we made him muffins, and I forgot to take a picture because I was too busy writing our love story.
Oh, I could cull through old family photos for hours, but I have to sign off because it's now pushing ten and Jacob keeps giving me these "Still not done?" looks.
Wish me luck as I attempt to make a "squashdy cake mixed with pink rice for breakfust" per the young master's request. Oh, and some "pooney water."