You are my wild child. My tiny firecracker. My little twin flame. It’s the matching of our energy that sometimes makes me feel breathless, though it might also be the cardio I earn chasing you around.
And, tomorrow, you are two.
Fourteen years ago, you made me a mom. You’re the first boy I ever loved. And I’m so proud of you.
(Although, that part might be a stretch… in addition to being my last baby, Baby E is also the tiniest.) If you aren’t assaulted by the onslaught of social media shares I’ve dropped in the past four weeks, you might be blissfully unaware that we welcomed our third son on October 3. Elliot Mac flew… Continue reading last but not least
The notion that people “let someone else” raise their kids because they send them to daycare is ludicrous.
Time really does seem to go faster as we get older.
Or maybe we just appreciate the moments more.
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