Motherhood, like the presidency, ages you. Before Babykins was born, I always made sure to take my ID with me when I went to a bar or the liquor store. While it was a (very big) stretch to think I wasn't 21, I at least looked like I could be in the range they should card. Between sleepless nights and constant worry, though, it would now be no surprise that I'm rounding on 30.
Over the last couple weeks, Babykins has become increasingly mobile, quickly adding to the aging process. She rolls, she bottom scoots, she crawls backwards. She can't yet get anywhere fast, but she's deteremined.
Case in point...Yesterday Babykins was exhausted, but desperately fighting nap time. I put her down on her bed (we're using a mattress on the floor next to our bed here in Australia) with her pacifier and told her I'd be back to check on her in a few minutes. Five minutes later I open the door, and her bed is empty.
Within moments, I've had a heart attack, called her name, yelled for Hubbykins, and figured out where she is. I bent down, pulled up the quilt on our bed, and there she is, on her tummy, pushed up on her arms with her head held high, pride in her eyes and a big smile on her face. She had managed to roll herself off her mattress and all the way under the bed.
Hubbykins extraced her while I finished hyperventilating and grew a few more gray hairs. A wonderful adventure for Babykins, and a warning to us that Babykins is on the move!
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