That's Alice's new way of trying to get me to come get her out of her bed at bedtime. It works, too. I just can't resist her wanting me to rock her like a tiny baby, so the last two nights I went in and scooped her right up. I know this little baby phase of hers won't last long so I've got to soak up every drop.
I took her in for her 2 year old well check with her doctor today. (Yes, I'm terribly late. They wouldn't schedule me in the afternoon until this far after her birthday. Whatever.) Anyway, she had to get some shots. She did really well during her check-up, which is pretty awesome since we were there just over two hours. She didn't even cry when the nurse gave her the first shot. But she wailed on the next two. Poor little sweetie.
I've been doing really well with accepting how quick my sweet Peach is growing up so far. Every new stepping stone that she jumps onto seems like so much fun that I don't miss the old one much. But today Alice's doctor told me something that made my heart ache. It's time for us to start giving her reduced fat milk instead of whole milk. For some reason that just makes me real sad. Much more than weaning from bottle to sippy cup or packing away her outgrown clothes. I just tear up when I think about that last gallon of whole milk in our fridge. I better squeeze those chub-chubs while I can, because with all the running around the playground she has been doing lately she won't be in the 67th percentile for her weight for long.
No comments:
Post a Comment