So for the last two weeks now, we’ve been in the process of moving. We moved from our little tiny two-bedroom apartment, to a nice, roomy, three-bedroom apartment. In the process we gained a huge master bedroom, a nursery, a playroom, an actual office for M to study in, AND a second bathroom. We’re no longer on the first floor, so I no longer have to live with the irritation of people peering in my living room window as they walk by. We’re no longer on the floodplain, so I don’t have to deal with the irritation of people ringing my doorbell every damn time it rains hard to warn me that sometimes that apartment floods. And we have this lovely south facing HUGE window that lets in tons of sunlight, so I no longer have to live with my irritation at living in a dank, cave-like mold factory.
It’s good to be the Beege.
My only complaint about our new place is the carpet is lumpy, and because I can’t see my feet, I tend to trip a lot.
Speaking of not being able to see my feet: I’m nearly 29 weeks along. Only 11 more weeks to go. On the one hand, this pregnancy has gone by really fast. And on the other, it seems to have dragged on and on and on, with no end in sight. So it’s like most pregnancies in that regard. 🙂
And, speaking of babies: Nea will be 3 tomorrow. Three years old. I can (vaguely) remember when I was three years old, and it seems strange to me, as I look at her, that I can remember being that age. While unpacking boxes of books this evening I found a photo album from her early days…she was so small! So gorgeous.
And she’s grown into this amazing little girl–she’s not a baby or a toddler. She’s definitely a kid. A kid with her own thoughts and ideas and ways of doing things. She’s stubborn and smart and artistic. She’s incredibly articulate. She cracks up when people belch or fart. When she gets angry at us she announces, “You’re not my best friend any more!” and then turns her little back and crosses her arms across her chest, her fury etched in every line of her body. She’s developed a fairly recent fascination with “VeggieTales” (Dude, I’ve had to watch “Jonah” four times a day some days…that’s a LOT of VeggieTales). She’s still resistant to potty training, and I think it’s just because WE’D like for her to be potty trained and it’s the one thing she can thwart us on. (It’s like when she says her prayers at night, “My kingdom come, my will be done...”) She loves broccoli and mac ‘n cheese. She likes to eat salad because it’s a “helpy” food. She doesn’t like to wait, or hold hands, or walk. She wants to run and run at the front of the pack. She’s tiny, but what she lacks in size she makes up for in sheer personality. She is fearless, except for carwashes. She tries to make people feel better when they feel sad. She tries to dress her cats up as superheros. She wears a swimsuit in Minnesota in January in sub-zero temperatures. She refuses to eat Chinese food with cutlery–give her chopsticks, or forget it. She cannot get to sleep at night without a beat-up monkey that M bought me at SeaTac airport when I was pregnant with her.
She is one of the most amazing people I know, and when I sneak into her room at night to check on her, I marvel that such a one came from me and her dad. I marvel that she looks so much like me, but at the same time: is a girl all her own. And I marvel that as much as she’s grown, when I see her sleeping there in the dim glow of her nightlight: I can still see my newborn baby, same as the day she was born, three years ago tomorrow.
Happy Birthday, sweet girl. Mama loves you like crazycakes.