Saturday, June 28, 2008

Celebrate Good Times! Come on!

Or is it "Celebrate! Good Times! Come On!"? I don't know.

I do know, however, that I am no longer the mother to any babies. Yesterday was Abby's fourth birthday, and her little chest has been puffed out all week with the abject thrill of being four. She wore a crown all day yesterday, and when people called her a princess on the BART, she eagerly - and loudly - corrected them, stating that she was The Birthday Girl.

She received a TON of great loot - gardening supplies, puzzles, beach toys and a tool box with real, grown up tools. When she opened the toolbox, her eyes widened and she said, "Oooh, look at those wrenches." She's been stealing Leo's tools to take apart our futon, so she's pretty psyched. I'm so glad she's interested in tools - my "toolbox" was always a kitchen drawer with a rock, hammer, and butter knife in it. I was also relieved that when she got excited about the wrenches I knew which tools she was talking about. It's embarrassing when a preschooler knows more about a subject than you do.

Today she's suffering from a little birthday hangover. She asked if we could "separate" her birthday, so that she could have a bit of it today. I put a birthday candle in her pasta, but that wasn't enough. It's a little short notice to order a magic show, so she's out of luck.

Isaac the cat is suffering a bit of the birthday hangover, too. This morning, he started running maniacally around the apartment. I noticed a silver ministreamer floating jauntily from his butt. Gagging, I had to restrain him to remove it - he was so freaked out that he wouldn't stay still. It was so supergross, I still shiver thinking about it.

I'm feeling a bit maudlin, too. At seven, Emma is all bony elbows and scraped knees. Abby is losing her chipmunk cheeks and her leg rolls are all gone. The only time I wish I were pregnant again is when I'm cleaning the litterbox, but oh my god do I miss their little larvae bodies, their soft weight on my chest as they slept as newborns. It's not even that I miss having a baby - I miss Emma and Abby as babies. I miss those little babies so much, even as I cheer every new thing my big girls can do, even as I imagine myself at their high school graduations, missing their small seven and four year old selves.

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