Avery is two today. She’s grown from enormous infant (let’s not mince words here; she was a 9lb sumo baby) to my teeny, tiny baby. So says her.
“Avery how old are you going to be?”
“Are you going to be a big girl now?”
“NO! Tiny baby.”
And I have to admit, that makes me happy. Enough with the growing up, already, kids. You’re perfect the way you are. Stop messing with it. Stay little! Stay innocent! Quit getting so huge!
Avery, like her sister, is beyond her years. She’s like an old soul. She’s been here before, as her granny says. But I think whoever she was before was a comedian. A performer with impeccable timing and a nack for pulling faces. Ave can articulate way beyond most children her age. Not to say she’s advanced in all areas – I can’t get that girl to eat a meal without at least once smearing the food all over her hands and face on purpose. I think she does it just to drive me crazy. She’s thoughtful like that.
And despite her turning two and becoming a small child, all the same as Eirinn two years ago, Ave seems so much younger. I don’t know if that’s just me hanging on to her baby-ness, but the thoughts of potty training and big girl beds and getting rid of her bottle (shut up)? All of which happened with Eirinn within a month of turning two? Not happening any time soon with Ave. She’s still so small. She doesn’t want to learn, which would make learning impossible. So, for now, she can stay tiny, just like she wants.
Happy birthday, Ave. You’re my favourite teeny, tiny baby. You’re funny and beautiful and sweet (when you want to be) and delightfully mischievous and you’ve got the best kisser in town.