So Annabelle has long been rather consumed with the idea of having long hair. I think Rapunzel has something to do with it. Yesterday she told me that one day it would be "long to my back then my bum then my legs THEN MY FEETS!" In truth, those curls are growing away. They stress me out sometimes because they do this thing where they get long and not curly at the top until it grows enough to form another ringlet. And then the curls bounce back up and I can breathe again. Because those curls have become her. That said, this long hair has introduced her to a whole new world of phone-ee tails and braids. She actually usually just wants "no-mal" hair, but once in a while requests a fancy do, usually to match mine. When she does request these lovely hairdos, there are moments that I'm a little blown away, by how grown up she looks, by how beautiful she is, by the little lady she's sprouting into. She's very much not a baby anymore.
And my Lou Lou. There's something about that girl. I've always thought that there's something about her that knows something in me. It's mostly in her eyes, the way she talks with them, the way the world is swallowed in gulps with every blink. She's doing her fair share of growing too. She's been working on crawling for weeks. And weeks. She's been doing things her way, scooting, and rocking, and doing what looks not unlike the push ups I should do every night. But she's almost there.
I watch my babies sometimes and, of course, wish in certain moments, that I could just pause for a bit. Because while my heart is swelling with pride at how lovely they're growing, it's also doing that aching thing, knowing they'll never be tiny again. And I find myself swallowing pride-sized lumps of irony all day, allowing the time to pass only because it seems it gets more lovely every day.