Camille is so 2. With a capital T-W-O. The screaming hissy fits have been going on for awhile, but they’re picking up in earnest.
Tonight, she spent 30 minutes crying over various things: her sister won’t let her have a tub toy; her nose is running (because she’s crying, of course); she doesn’t want to put on her diaper; her nose is running; she doesn’t want to read in Abby’s room; she doesn’t want to kiss Abby goodnight; her nose is running.
As I’m rocking her and singing to her to calm her down (still naked after her bath), she swats my face because I’m singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.
She’s 2.
But as she’s squirming in my lap, I look down and notice how incredibly long she is. It stops me in my tracks and makes me think back to when she was so tiny and so sick when she was born. I thought about when I was afraid to touch her because of all the tubes in her little arms and the tank they placed her in to help her breathe.
There’s no trouble in her breathing now. One big gulp of air and whoosh! A big ol’ blast of screamin’ meanies.
She’s really growing up. And 2 is just a bump in the road on the way to 13. Then 18. Then 21.
And I want to be there to see it all. Hear it all. Feel it all.
What a wonderful ride.