I am now the mother of an eight-year-old. Wow. How can that be? I feel like it was only a minute (and a lifetime) ago that I found out I was preggers. And then there was the long being-pregnant situation. The newborn fog. Watching her learn to be a person, to crawl, to walk. Experiencing a second pregnancy with a wee person needing 400% of me all the time. Watching the sisterbond happen over these last almost-six years. And now, my baby is eight.
The night before her birthday, she was reading a book, and tried to entreat her father to let her read until the book was done. “Come on, dad, let me finish this book before my life changes forever.” (Drama much?)
And now she is eight. And she is saucy. And she is sweet. And she is smart. And she is innocent. And she knows so much more than I do. This is my baby, and this is eight.