I have a secret.
The bee on the Honey Nut Cheerio’s box is named Bob.
According to my daughter at least, who whispered that to me this morning.
(She was close. Wikipedia says his name is Buzz.)
This morning was a jolly romp of chasing each other to the bathroom (she won the pee-pee race in case you were wondering), snuggling under a blanket to watch Dinosaur Train, and playing chemist on the kitchen floor. My name for the game, not hers. She takes little cups of water and dumps, sorts, stirs, arranges and, when it spills (it always does) she then cleans it up. She is a weird and wonderful one, my child.
The morning ended with me frantically putting hair into lopsided pigtails because that was the best we were gonna get before she finished sorting her shoes on her play slide. I realize that statement makes no sense to anyone unless they have a three-year-old. But trust me. She wasn’t going to last beyond the shoe-sorting game.
Yesterday I was looking through some photos of my daughter from when she was around one year old. I was searching for a picture of a friend and ended up getting distracted by this tiny version of my daughter. Her arms were SO CHUBBY it is almost too much to handle. She was sporting a band-aid even then. (Always with the boo-boos from some kind of raucous adventure.) She had an intense look on her face, highly suspect of you taking her photo.
Oh but to breathe in the smell of that baby 15-month-old’s hair.
I cannot help but sound like an elderly aunt: I cannot believe how fast you have grown.
All I can do is stay present to what she is right now. To her lip with dried yogurt, her feet in my way-too-large shoes, and her little whispers to me about Bob, the Honey Nut Cheerios bee.
Do you have a kids who are growing way too fast? Isn’t it just astounding?