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A couple weeks ago something fairly traumatic happened. Adeline started calling me “Mom”. As in, not “mama”.

Don’t get me wrong, she still calls me mama a lot of the time. But when she’s whining about wanting something or when she’s not getting my attention right away, she starts shouting, “Mom! Mom!” I thought I was supposed to get another year or two before this started…

This is, of course, really a symptom of a broader issue: my inability to accept how quickly she’s growing up. Yesterday David asked how long she had to stay in the carseat. “Forever,” I responded. Then I explained that we could at least turn her to face forward in… “four and a half months.”  Oh my god, I realized, my baby will be two years old in just a little over four months. That’s just not ok.

She’s not a baby anymore. I mean, she is really, really not a baby anymore. And to be honest, I wouldn’t even want her to be. I LOVE this age. She’s funny and awesome and interactive and opinionated and clever and energetic and headstrong and so.freaking.adorable. She likes to make us laugh and she gives us an evil little grin when she’s doing something she knows is wrong. She hardly ever sits still: it’s go, go, go until nap time and then go, go, go until bedtime. She can entertain herself a lot of the time, and she loves to play with friends.

As much as I love this age, though, sometimes I wish we could just sit down in the rocking chair and snuggle for awhile. Sometimes I just want her to call me mama. Luckily for me, she still does. Sometimes.