4 days until D-Day – or shall I say the B-Day (although, technically, GG’s birthday is indeed D-Day/Pearl Harbor). Anyway, she’s turning 6 on Sunday, and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. I don’t know if has to do with hormonal stuff that women go through when they reach a certain age, or just the fact that (sniff, sniff): my baby’s not a baby anymore.
I’ve realized this melancholy/nostalgic/introspective thing happens to me every year about seven days before her birthday. GG, on the other hand, seems to exert her independence/will/individuality – sometimes exhibited by uncharacteristic (and it pains me to say it) brattiness seven days before her special day.
And so I end up on this weird emotional seesaw where I’m on her (it seems like constantly) for doing things she wouldn’t normally do (e.g. sassing one of her favorite aunts) and wondering where I went wrong and realizing how woefully unprepared I was for this parenting gig in the first place. Then the seesaw goes up (or down depending on the day) and I see how she’s got her own little circle of friends at school. Or I call home from work to see how her day went and she tells me that she’s “a little busy right now.” Or she comes up with ideas about helping “people who are poor” and “people who are sad.”
All of it gets me misty because I realize that GG really is a big kid now….and maybe, just maybe – in between all the ups and downs - some of what we’re trying to impart is getting through.
Guess I’m looking forward to D-Day/B-Day after all, even though I’ll see it through the misty eyes of a woefully unprepared mom.
Happy Birthday, GG. Mom and Dad love you more than anything.
GG two months after THE Birth Day
GG at last year's birthday party.
Sniff. Sniff.
