My daughter (V) had a slightly early birthday party last week to coincide with her out-of-state grandparents’ visit.  We invited some of her friends to a pumpkin patch complete with pirate ship and train for the little tykes to clamber over.

Our little angel...and pirate!

My wife and I even baked a cake from scratch and decorated the thing.

Spooktacular!

 

It seemed that everyone had a great time (despite the hurricane winds that prevented much of our on-site decorations and some miscommunication with the orchard owner about entrance fees that we rectified).  During the whole day, V had a blast enjoying the sunshine, food, and friends.

And this got me thinking about how she’s getting older (yeah, I know she’s only 2), and how this time in her life is traditionally called the “terrible twos.”  I gotta tell you, I just don’t buy it.  Don’t get me wrong, she has massive tantrums, a strong will, and the occasional bite reflex when she’s really mad.  But those things are objectively far-and-few between (despite seeming otherwise).  I’m fascinated by watching her grow, discover new physical abilities (like brushing her teeth), and developing her language skills (speaking in complete sentences).

I’ve felt some particular heartache these past couple of days, and I think it’s because V is growing up and shedding the vestiges of babyhood as she runs into toddlerville.  That and as she gains independence, she’ll need us less and less.  I know that’s a good thing for her to function in the world, but I can’t help but feel some nostalgia for when she would lay quietly on our chests or fit in our baby Bjorn.  I am proud of her because she’s finding herself, her voice, and learning to move through life.

I can only hope that she’ll continue to let us be part of that journey down the road.

Jamming on the piano!

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