My Carry-Me Baby

Me and my carry-me baby two years ago.

Me and my carry-me baby two years ago.

We got a family dog a few weeks ago. Since then it’s been a juggling act with the puppy, my kids, housework, PTA and church responsibilities, my husband being out of town and all of the other things I want to try to do.

My hands have been full and I’ve been busy, busy, busy.

The craziness has gotten to my sweet, independent baby girl. All of a sudden all of the things she has wanted to do “by herself” the past six months have turned into “mommy-help-me” chores. Things like climbing up and down the barstools, walking up and down stairs, getting into the car. She keeps saying, “carry me mommy.”

I am ashamed to say that up until this week I have been frustrated with it all. I felt like I haven’t had the time or the energy to “carry her” when I know she can walk herself. Why do I need to drag her and the dog down the deck stairs each and every one of the 18 times I take the pup to the potty every day?

But then it dawned on me that my carry-me baby will be two years old this week. My beautiful, well-mannered, happy, spunky baby will be two years old. Two years!!

It breaks my heart. It makes me smile. I am torn between wanting her little and loving watching her grow.

It has been so fun to have her in my life after nine months of sickness, pain and torture wondering if she’d make it here safely. I remember telling my husband that I didn’t know if I would even like her because she was making me so stressed and sick.

But I love her. More than words can express.

Her pigtails are now about 6 inches long – each. She surprised us the other day by counting to 10 on her own. She knows all the words to her favorite church song “I am a Child of God” and when I rock her to sleep she sings “Baby Mine” and “Hush Little Baby” along with me. Sometimes she’ll rock a baby doll of her own. She’ll kiss my cheek when I have an “owie” and hug me when I’m sad.

It is so fun to see her grow.

But it’s also so bittersweet. My baby, the last of our lot, is not going to be a baby anymore.

Soon she won’t want me to help her get dressed, she’ll style her own hair, and she won’t need any lullabies to go to sleep.

Earlier this week when all her brothers were at school I sat down on the couch and held her while she napped. I should have been getting dinner prepped but I opted to make sandwiches that night instead. I should have cleaned my kitchen and bathroom to get ready for her birthday party. But I just couldn’t do it. I sat and held her in my arms and kissed her forehead. I snuggled her cheeks and I stroked her hair. She is beautiful. She is mine. I am so blessed.

I have forgotten how lucky I am to have her. And so the past couple of days I have happily picked up my “carry-me” baby and squeezed her tight. I have cuddled to her as we have wrestled the dog to go outside and go to the bathroom. I have grabbed her and hauled her downstairs while doing laundry. I have picked her up and toted her all around the house.

I have held on a little tighter than normal and I have tried to soak it all in. After all, I don’t know how many “carry-me mommy”s she has left.

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