51 weeks. This time last year, I was chugging castor oil and logging miles and miles on the treadmill and eating curry and pineapple and driving my mother and husband nuts waiting for Bean. I was so sure it would be February 21st. I was worried about Mom having to fly back to the US without getting to cuddle her granddaughter.
This morning, I stuck my finger in the kidlet’s mouth while playing on the floor, and felt her third tooth. She grooved to some music, tore up some paper, and stood up for a bit with one finger on my knee as her only support. I am back in the jeans I was wearing before my pregnancy, and we are one happy little family.
And then there’s this:
The year is almost over. It’s flashed by. I think it’s only going to get worse, in terms of time-passed vs. perception-of-time-passed. In terms of Bean enjoyment, of course, it’ll just get better and better.
Especially when she gets her toy piano next week (shhhh!).