I am going to preface this post and the entire rest of my life with this statement: I’m in a piss poor mood. That should about cover it. For the past month or so, I have been on this weird, unending carousel ride of annoyance, exhaustion, inappropriate anger, despair, and general motherly weepyness. WeepineSs? Weep penis. Obviously this post is not about me growing up.
Robin is my youngest and turned 6 at the end of September.
MY YOUNGEST CHILD IS 6 YEARS OLD. For her birthday she requested red velvet cream filled cupcakes, breakfast at IHOP and spaghetti dinner with garlic bread. She’s so specific when she wants something. She’s getting really good at Lego building. She’s reading books with NO PICTURES WTF. She loves clothes from the thrift store that should be worn by girls 10+ years older than she is. I alter them for her size and age and she acts as if it’s the best thing ever. When she did her birthday shopping (Grandma money) she wanted a dress and this is what she picked out:
Then, we happened to come across this in a 5T which I was sure she couldn’t fit. BUT she does fit and I couldn’t be happier:
The Shy Little Kitten has always been one of her favorites. Thankfully she is still 6 and she still acts 6 years old for the most part. Stuffed animals. Being really sweet to the point that I am unsure if she is my child. Bursting into tears the second she’s done something wrong. So all is not lost, I suppose. She’s growing up, but she’s still my baby.
The thing that really killed me this year was the bed thing. I wanted this to happen and I didn’t want it to happen. THE BED THING.
She…she got a twin sized bed this year. Such a huge part of me wanted her not to be ready, for her to cling a bit longer to her baby stage. She was actually anxious at one point about getting such a big bed because she wasn’t sure how her stuffed animals would sleep on it. If they’d fall off or if there wasn’t enough room.
One thing she inherited from me is her uncontrollable desire to deface property. One day she drew all over her bedroom wall. When I asked her (screamed at her, probably) why, she said “it was an accident”. THAT IS NOT AN ACCIDENT DON’T GIVE ME THAT OH MY GOD She’s drawn pretty much every where she can: walls, doors, furniture, BOOKS. Obviously, she’s becoming very good at erasing and cleaning up her artwork. She got to keep one piece of graffiti. One guess as to who decided she could keep it:
Needless to say, that reminded me that I was actually for her getting a new bed. After getting to pick out sheets and agreeing to keep her old toddler bed mattress for her stuffed animals (and as a couch, for parties(?)) she was very pleased and even more so when she realized there was a new small throw pillow in with her new bedding set. Apparently she LOVES pillows.
I can’t even remember what the other horrible things were that I was going to talk about. My kids growing up are good and it makes me happy. It’s still horrible, though. I feel like the worst cliche mom right now. Maybe it’s because I feel that painful twang of my own age or mortality or possibly a heart attack. There are no more toddler beds in this house. No one uses a potty seat anymore. No one needs a step stool to wash hands. Josh is improving his Tae Kwon Do and will test (SO SOON?!) in November for his blue belt. Every single kid in his class is older than him by at least 2 years. He trains at home with me and on his own. Robin has learned more songs on the violin and is doing more complicated finger work and double stops so she can play fiddle tunes and beat the devil. Just sitting here thinking about is making me cry because MY BABIES. I am happy, I really am. It’s just that my happiness is surrounded by a thick, chewy layer of self pity. Twin sized bed means that I can crawl into bed with her without the fear of catastrophic structural failure. Advancing in their activities means they are are setting goals and nurturing their loves. *sigh* Just because it’s inevitable doesn’t mean it’s easy.