Tuesday, May 17, 2011

I like eight

I think there's a whole bunch of factors, obviously.  But seven was a tough year for us - more so for me.  I didn't like the sassy, sarcastic side that came out, the temper tantrums were tougher, it was just a rough year overall.  But so far, being eight seems awesome.  Jess is overall much, much happier, she's easier to get along with, seems to handle difficulties easier, finds joy and happiness so much faster.  School seems to flow better, she's really thriving and so much more content.  I love eight.   I got her school pictures today - and she's so grown up, I was really kind of shocked.  How did my tiny pretty bouncy baby turn into this tall, thin, gorgeous serious girl?

Sam is almost five.  He is.  I know.  It still shocks me.  Five.  My baby boy is almost five years old.  He's going to be a kindergartener in a matter of months and I'm dreading it already.  Not only because I'm pretty sure he's going to scream hysterically thru the first month, but also because he's been at my side for his entire life and I'm going to miss him like you wouldn't believe.  Who's going to bake cookies with me?

Speaking of which... Julianna won't let me bounce her anymore.  She's always LOVED laying across my lap, bouncing to sleep. Even when she didn't sleep, she'd doze into this hypnotic sort of state that was peaceful and relaxed.  And suddenly, everytime I try to lay her across my knees, she starts twisting and arching her back.  She's in the process of giving up the second nap, and if she gets one really good nap around eleven to two, she's good for the day and out for the night until around eight thirty or so.  Last night, she was up twice, and has had a wretched time napping today.  It's so hard, with everyone here and the chaos that just exists in the house these days to maintain a consistent schedule, and she WON'T FREAKING BOUNCE TO SLEEP ANYMORE, which is frustrating, as she also won't nurse and is rambling around the living room, just hollering at everyone who looks at her wrong.

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