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7

the year i stopped wiping her butt

she was sad @ first. whiny. but 3’s a charm & i knew it would pass if i stuck with it and i had stopped being willing to wipe the *ss of someone perfectly capable of it. now, she’s wiping her own butt.

7

the year she started hanging up her ducky towel!

&

the other day, when a friend spilled all the LIFE pieces, she immediately squatted down to help and said “everybody, help W clean up the pieces”. wow. is this my daughter?

she screams, too, like i do.

during the game of LIFE, when it was time for a friend to get married in the game: “do you want to marry a woman or a man?”  happy mama moment.

& a few days ago, i asked hubby: “did you clean up her snack?” he went downstairs, didn’t see anything to clean up. me to Anja, perplexed: “did you put away your milk and popcorn?” “i put them away without anyone telling me to.”  i was SO happy i gave her a HUGE HUG.

7

a year of audiobooks – all of Harry Potter, RL Stine, and more. books and books, through her hears.

a year of Pokemon and Minecraft, tummy rolls, loving swimming, swimming without the life vest for the first time, jumping off the diving board for the first time.

a year of collecting: feathers, stones, snake skin, bearded dragon skin, porcupine quill, pez dispensers, harry potter chocolate frog cards, dead bugs.

another year of coming up with stuff, like:

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the guinea holder.

—–

 

so much evolves each year. i could write a similar thing for this, my 45th year. the year i went farsighted. the year perimenopausal PMS became a serious challenge and i began breaking out in hives again daily. the year i gallivanted through shibari, aerial dance, cyr wheel, then fractured my 5th metatarsal. there are a few months left to 45. we’ll go to India, Nepal, the United Arab Emirates. that part feels surreal as yet.

45. perhaps the year i surrendered to being ordinary and becoming okay with that.

 

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