You're the baby-baby!

It has come to my attention that Miss Dub is no longer a baby.

Sometimes this awareness is more glaring, like when she proudly declares, "Toot-toot!" to a crowd of strangers after passing some noxious gas, or when she yells, "No, Mama!" when I ask her to do something simple, like not hold her breath and pretend to choke herself when she doesn't get what she wants.

Other times it's more subtle: When I ask her where we're going for the night, and she proudly declares, "Chicago!" (Granted, we weren't going there, but it is a three-syllable word.) Or when I go to check on her and she's tucking all her stuffed animals into bed. Or when I find her sketching out advanced mathematical equations on our family blackboard. You know, stuff like that.

Late last night as we were returning from a fun night with friends, I asked Miss Dub if she was my baby, just to settle the argument once and for all. She replied, "No, Mama! Baby Zuzu!" referring to Baby Zee. I agreed that Baby Zee is my baby, but that she could also be my baby forever, even when she got old and had her own babies.

"Silly, Mama," Miss Dub said.

And in that moment I realized that she wasn't going to stay young forever; that I'd already forgotten what it felt like to hold her in the nook of my arm or wake up with her five freakin' times a night. That while it seems like it now, my life will not always be consumed by sippy cups and dino nuggets. That one day Miss Dub will refuse to tell me about her crushes and will rant about how she needs a new outfit.

As I looked out at the snow-frosted trees, I couldn't help but wish to bottle the moment for safe-keeping. I ached to know that despite my best efforts (or any growth-stunting, processed foods I frequently feed her) I can't keep her from growing up.

But don't tell Miss Dub - she'll always be my baby.



p.s. Is it weird that I think Leap Day is a Canadian holiday? 'Cause I do.