1… 2… 3… 4!
I’ve been trying hard not to freak out.
My baby is four!
Well, not my baby. My oldest. Actually, not my oldest counting my stepchildren (and I do)…
now that’s just confusing.
Nicole is four!
Which means I survived toddlerhood.
Officially, that is. Of course, my twenty-two month old is out to prove me wrong.
Yesterday was crazy, and was all about Nicole.
Being the little diva she is, she loved it. Minus a decades-older-than-her-age “I don’t want it to be my birthday!” breakdown the night before. Whatever. She loved it.
I made my first strawberry cake yesterday. And since I am who I am, I jumped in with both feet and made it allergy friendly–no eggs, no dairy–for Abigail.
Then I tried again, with butter and eggs and…
Well, whatever, people ate it and the frosting was good. That’s what a cake is all about, right?
The bottom line is, my
little big girl is now four, and I’m thankful to have seen nearly every single day of her existance. I may not be a perfect mom, but she’s the one who made me a