Mother’s Day redux

So. My daughter Mimi. You remember my daughter Mimi? Here she is:

Cute isn’t she. A cute little blob of vulnerable neediness. She can’t do anything for herself. She doesn’t understand much. Can’t get her hands to her mouth. Doesn’t even have the sense to fuss when I get water in her eyes in the bathtub.

Oh right, wait. She’s two now and she looks like this:

“I calculatin’ mommy, I calculatin’!”

And on Mother’s Day she walks into the house after being out with her dad carrying a bouquet of flowers for me. And when I call my mother to wish her a happy Mother’s Day, she hops up and down yelling “ME FIRST! ME FIRST!”, then gets on the phone and very seriously, without any prompting at all, says “Happy Mother’s Day grandma. I bring flowers to mommy grandma. I take pictures with a camera grandma.”

And later in the evening when my husband calls his mother, she also yells “ME FIRST!” and says to her, “Happy Mother’s Day grandma. I go to sleep now grandma. Yeah, I go to sleep now grandma.”

Goodness. I still can’t get over how my little squishy blob of a baby has somehow, apparently in spite of me, turned into a person. An interesting person with things on her mind. Who still sometimes, thankfully, says “I’m a baby, mommy” and lets me cradle her and rock her while we sing Rockabye Baby. But not, I know, for very much longer.

Okay, here are some arty flower pics. That’s all I had to say.





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