Last night as flag-clad-Charlotte gnawed on a cob of corn with one hand while flailing a rib bone in the other, it occurred to me that yesterday—American Independence Day—was the last of her “first” holiday experiences. With just a few weeks to go until her first birthday, we have run the gamut on holidays. I will never again peruse the little kiosk of “Baby’s First X” apparel at the Carter’s store.
I have found myself feeling nostalgic for pregnancy lately. Timehop has been displaying a series of belly shots, reminders of my last day of work before maternity leave, pictures of the beginnings of her nursery. I’ve found myself thinking longingly of the lazy breakfasts Catch and I would have on our lounge chairs out back while we enjoyed a few weeks off at home together for the first and last time. I miss watching my belly move—the excited anticipation. When I reminisce, it feels like watching the life of another person. Was that really us? How times have changed.
Tomorrow, we’ll board a plane to Puerto Vallarta for our first family vacation since the arrival of our little tornado. The last time we were in PV, it was all freshly shaved legs, perfect pedicures, tequila, sunsets, and our legs tangled together underwater. This time, it is pool floats, sunscreen, chipped toenail polish, nap schedules, do-I-really-need-to-shave?, and more luggage than a college kid moving into a dorm.
The speed at which babies change your life will give you whiplash.