The Girl refused her high chair a couple of days ago, and hasn't looked back.
On Saturday, she went without pull-ups for the first time. Her first 'big girl' undies were festooned with Curious George. She stayed dry all day, to the delight of all.
We retired the crib a couple of months ago, which was traumatic enough. Now she's mowing down milestones every few days.
One night last week, she and I were playing in the living room. She wrapped a blanket around her head like a bonnet. I told her she looked like a baby. She froze, shocked, and corrected me:
“I'm not a baby! I'm a big woman!”
Between TB and TG, we've had a high chair at the table for the last six years. TG is our last, so when we put it away, that's that. We've been buying diapers and/or pull-ups for the last six years – now, abruptly, not. Soon we'll probably retire the sippy cups and the stroller.
That phase of our lives will be over.
With little ones, I've heard it said, the days are long but the years are short. It's true.
There's something incredibly fulfilling about watching them grow into themselves. It's like watching a puzzle solve itself. Each new bit of independence is cause for real joy. Their ability to surprise you every single day is one of those little facts that nothing can really prepare you for. And there's real parental pride in watching, say, TB spontaneously offer a tissue to his crying friend. He's on his way to becoming a good man, which is all I can ask. Even at almost-six, you can see it.
And it will certainly be easier, on a day-to-day level, with less baby paraphernalia around.
But we've had that high chair at the table for a long time. The table doesn't look quite right without it.
She's not a big woman yet, but she is getting to be a big girl. I'm proud of her, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But I still think she looks a little like a baby.