Friday, December 02, 2005

Who gave permission is what I wanna know?!

When you are the parent of a small child, the general rule is that you the parent gives permission for your child to do a fair amount of what your child does.

Given this I want to know one thing...


It sure as heck wasn't her parents.

Because there is no way, ABSOLUTELY NO WAY I am old enough to have an 8 year old child.

Didja hear me? NO WAY.

I warned you all this post was coming.

Yes, Number 1 is turning 8 years old today. Officially at 11:21 AM CST. (We tried to convince #1 this morning that she was not actually 8 until the time of her birth, but she wasn't having it.)

Apparently turning 8 is a big deal. Only two more years before her age will be a double digit number. Big things happen when you are 8. Now what those big things are, I am not exactly sure, but #1 knows they are out there.

At some point today, it is likely that #1 will request the telling of the story of the day she was born.

That is always a tough one. For now # 1 gets the edited version of that story because the unedited version is sad, scary, and really hard for Mommy to get through without getting upset, and 8 years old is not quite old enough for the full disclosure of that day.

Her birth was the most frightening thing I have ever experienced. I guess I am going to have to leave it at that because my multiple attempts today at trying to write about that experience just won't come out the way I want. I can not find the words.

While she was in NICU I was sent to a breastfeeding clinic, and I was the only one there without a baby. As we waited for the nurse I sat and listened to all of these mothers complain about how their babies woke them up during the night, and all the other things that new mothers complain about. I burst in to tears right then and there because I was so jealous of them and their complaints. I had not even been able to hold my baby at that point.

I try to remember that experience when I am really frustrated with #1 and she is driving me beyond my personal point of sanity. I am not always good at it admittedly, but I try to remember how lucky we are that she is here and able to make me that crazy.

So I may moan and groan about my age and her age, but I am forever grateful that I have that to moan and groan about.

Now I must leave you.

There are cupcakes and horse cakes to bake, and we must prepare for the festivities to come.

And I won't moan and groan about it.


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