Okay, fine. Maybe I just feel famous, but that should totally count; right? My letter to Dr. Jane Nelsen was published on her blog. Woo! And I’m hoping that podcast is coming soon. I’m dying to know just how dorky I was.
Well, now that my moment of giddiness is over, let’s talk about some other stuff, shall we? Like, Tricia. Let’s talk about Tricia. And what I mean by “talk about Tricia” is “let me get weepy and maudlin over how grown up she is”. Oh, I know, I know. She’s not even a year old yet. (Although March 20th draws nigh, my friends.) But look, the kid is not a newborn anymore. I know, I know. It’s hard for me, too. Oh, so hard. You see, she is my last baby. After Tricia, there will be no more newborns, no more first smiles, no more first laughs, no more first teeth. (I know. The bright side is no more midnight feedings, no more poopy diapers, etc. But focus. I’m being maudlin right now.)
And there will be no more first pairs of shoes. No more of these.
No more chubby little feet stuffed into cuter than snot shoes like this.
I weep, people. I weep.
