Clearly from this photo I’m big on recycling.  I did do my 4th grade science project on recycling.  It was the early ’90’s back when putting one can in a bin constituted saving the earth.   The picture on the left is a shot from our maternity photo shoot in fall 2010.  The shot on the right was yesterday.  Still rockin’ this dress from 2010!  Yes, it’s a maternity dress.  I’ve learned I can re-wear lots of preggo clothes.

Can a get a “Belt It!”?!  That’s what I did to this maternity dress here…

I’m not the only one recycling.  Last summer I put Charlotte in a 12 month dress at 9 months old because I was terrified she would grow out of it.  Ha!  I’m an idiot.  My teeny senorita is 20 months and can still fit into 12 month outfits.  See…

August 2011

July 2012

Did you catch the outfit Charlotte was wearing at the top of this post?  Yep!  Recycled!  It’s a 9 month outfit she’s wearing now as a 20 month old.  It was a dress last summer, and a top with shorts this summer.

August 2011

Kid sizes are kind of a crock.  So are most maternity clothes.  Take that manufacturers!

Every child gets a bad haircut.  You remember your perm, rat tail, mohawk, or bowl cut, right?  I had “The Dorothy Hamill” 10-years too late in the mid-80’s.  (Thanks Mom!)  She swears it’s because I had “hair you just couldn’t do anything with!”  Sadly, in the early 90’s when I had more control of my own ‘do, I rocked a piggyback perm with giant bangs.  I have no pictures of this embarrassment since a bunch of our stuff is in storage while we’re selling the house.  (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)  In high school it was all about “The Rachel”.  That was actually cute.  Thanks Jen!

Greyson admits to having a “hockey mullet”.  This is the only picture I could find that got even close.  (Note to either of his sisters: Please send me a better mullet pic if you can find it.  Thanks!)  

I’m hoping Charlotte got her bad haircut out of the way as a 1 1/2 year-old.  I feel terrible!  I took her to the kiddie haircut place we went for her first haircut.  She was very good this time.  The lack of panicked screaming was wonderful.  I had her sit on my lap and we read a book.  I asked the stylist to TRIM her bangs.    She hacked my poor baby’s hair INTO A MULLET!  A straight-up white trash mullet!

Mom asked me why I didn’t get the back cut also, to even it out.  (Are you seeing how the Hamill haircut may have come to pass?) I can’t bring myself to cut those beautiful toddler curls.  I think I can make my little hillbilly look better with some pigtails and bows until it grows out a little.

Like any new mother I was hesitant and frankly dreading Charlotte’s move from infancy to toddlerhood.  If I’m being honest it was a “Waa! Waa! My baby is growing up” thing.  Seven months into officially having a toddler and I realized.  I love it.  Toddlers are not only adorable, they’re crazy fun!

It has been the greatest adventure watching my baby become this giggling, talking, playing, fighting, eating, drinking, dancing, singing little person.  She has become a child with likes and dislikes, good days and bad.  She is a human who gets sick, gets hurt, gets well, and heals up.

I feel silly even writing it.  It’s an obvious and ordinary thing to learn and discover your world.  But, not when it’s your child.  When it’s your child it becomes magical.

We were coming home the other day and I said in the car, “Charlotte, are you ready to go home and see Daddy and Ginger?”  She was quiet for a second, then responded, “Mama too?”  I said, “Yes Baby.  Mama too.  Always.”

I’ve witnessed some children in Charlotte’s daycare perform this daily ritual of losing their minds when their parents drop them off.  They cry, wail, and cling to mom or dad until the teachers expertly distract the child.  Come pick-up time they squeal and joyfully run with open arms as their parents scoop them up.

Not our kid.  Nope.  That behavior is very rare.  She can’t wait to get down and play.  She darts for the toys and runs to her peers who’s eyes are still fresh with tears from their goodbyes.  We come and pick her up and she barely looks up.  We have to pry books or toys out of her hands to get her to leave.  Her acknowledgement of us comes only in the form of whines for a paci or crackers to eat in the car.

She will offer a hug, smile, and wave when I leave.  I cherish that and memorize the image to carry with me during the day because that’s all I’ll get.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love that Charlotte is so independent and eager, but is it too much to ask for a little parental longing?  ::sigh::  I have to imagine the parents of clingers wish their kids were a little more like my independent child.