Somebody has a birthday coming up. I can hardly believe that my beautiful little baby is going to be 2. Two.Two whole years. 24 months. I guess I have to stop keeping track of her age in months now.
It’s hard to believe that the walking and talking toddler was once this tiny little baby:
It’s hard to believe that the little person who doesn’t ever actually walk but runs everywhere, once upon couldn’t get around on her own. That even once she had learned how to roll on to her stomach, she used to cry because she couldn’t roll back on her own.
It’s hard to imagine that the restless toddler who tosses and turns, kicks the wall and generally likes to sleep sideways as a baby never moved a muscle in her sleep. But it doesn’t surprise me that she liked to be swaddled for a long time, given the current situation with her flailing limbs.
It’s hard to even remember that her first tentative baby laughs were cheeky little giggles and not the full-body belly laughs that double her over.
It’s hard to accept that she’s not a baby anymore.
My name is Zoey. 
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