The Party's Over

This was posted in the blog exchange here a month ago, but in honor of my daughter's birthday, I've updated it to use here. Does that count as an update? C'mon, cut me some slack...I'm in the middle of selling my business, trying to sell my house, I planned and prepared an Ariel/Princess birthday party, and my mother-in-law is visiting.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My daughter’s birthday party went off without a hitch this weekend. She turned three. How in the heck did that happen? As cliché as it is, I swear it was just yesterday that she was a little blob of baby, screaming bloody murder in her car seat, smearing strained carrots on her high chair tray…sleeping peaceful baby sleep on my shoulder, fascinated by the spots of sunlight on the carpet. Now she goes to preschool. She traces her name and learns the names of the planets. She has a backpack almost as big as she is that she insists on carrying herself.
“I can do it, Mama. I am bigger.”
As we pack to move, I am sorting things to give away that we no longer need. My baby’s stroller went away yesterday. We used to takes walks to get lunch together with that stroller. We would stop along the way so she could pick flowers or watch a lizard dart away into the bushes. Now she can push her doll in it.
“Look, Mama. This is my baby. We are going to the store. See you later.”
Tiny clothes go into a bag. They are for someone else’s baby now. I tie the bags closed – and then rip them open again retrieving items I can’t bear to see go. The striped shirt that needed washed every night because it was all she would wear. The sleeper with the million snaps that drove me crazy every diaper change.
“Mama, I got dressed. I put the tags in the back. I did it myself.”
I remember waiting for her first smile. Hearing her first baby belly laugh. Was it really so long ago?
“Mama, wanna’ hear a joke? Knock knock. Who’s there? Mickey Mouse’s underwear.”
I remember her asleep on her daddy’s chest. I remember her nestled in the crook of his arm.
“Mama, when I get big I want to marry daddy…and Briton at school.”
The time has passed so quickly. Who told her she could grow up? I scoop her up and cradle her like a baby.
“Mama, I’m not a baby. I am bigger.”
“Yes, you are bigger, but you are still my baby.”
“No, I’m not. I’m big.”
And it’s true. She is big. And smart, and funny, and stubborn, and beautiful. She is everything that makes being a mom worth it. She is my little girl who is speeding toward adulthood at light speed. I want to stop it, or at least slow it down, but I know that I can’t. I cherish the memories of her as a baby, but each bit she grows adds new memories. And I know I’ll cherish those too. I’ll file them away and pull them out when she uses the car and leaves it with no gas or borrows my makeup and “forgets” to return it.
“Mama, hold me like when I was a baby.”
I lift her and cradle her in my arms, her long legs dangling. And time stands still.

June Blog Exchange - What's In a Name?

This post is part of a June Blog Exchange on the theme "What's in a Name?" Click hereto read more. And, if you'd like to participate, email Kristen at kmei26 at yahoo.com.

It's time again for the blog exchange. Which means for me, the only time my blog actually gets updated lately. I would like to welcome Elissa from Punk Rock Parents....

What's in a Name??

We agonized over what to name our new puppy. He was nameless for way too long and we tossed around a ton of different names, combination of names, and we eventually ended up with "Mr. Buck-a-roo Fantastic". Yes we struggled for weeks to come up with that name. Then a few years later we were forced to name our unborn baby. The boy name can easily to us, but the girls name was a whole different story. After about 4 ultra-sounds we didn't know for sure that we were having a girl but the odds were high. When it came to naming a girl I left it entirely up to my fiancé. I did not want to do to my daughter, what my Mom did to me. I was named Elissa. Not Alyssa or Alicia, but "Uh-lee-ss-uh." My name is not strange or too unusual; it is not exotic or foreign. I have met other women named Elissa and we share our ever-enduring hardship. No one can ever pronounce the name correctly. I think that I have been called Alyssa more than my actual name. Infact I have been at my job for 2 years. I work in a small office with one other person. When I answer the phone I always say my name and YET, my co-worker still calls me Alyssa. I am just tired of correcting her. I am tired of correcting everyone. Every time I went into a classroom it was always the same. It would be time for roll call and everyone' name would be called. "Jessica", "here" "Ben", "here" and then "Alyssa" after making sure there wasn't an Alyssa in the class I would say "It's Elissa". I never got to say "here". I didn't want my daughter to go through that but I didn't want her to be named "Mary" either. So the job was left to my fiancé. Just days before our daughter was born he decided on a name. Sophia. I was afraid that it would be too "girly" and when I called my newborn daughter Sophia for the first time it was strange. She is one-year old now and I feel like she has really become "Sophia". Not because there is a certain personality that "Sophia's" should fit, but because she is developing into her own. Now I watch my sister struggle with naming her twins, who are due in September. She has a boy and a girl on the way and she is stumped on names. I hope she knows that their name will not define who they are.

Elissa aka Punk Rock Mom! I am the ultimate multi-tasker. My daughter, Sophia, just turned 1 and since she was about 4 months old has been coming to the office with me. I am a 28 year old and will be getting married in 24 days!