You Don't Say!

I get emails from Pampers all the time. I'm sure it was something I signed up for after Zoe's birth. Every month a new email rolls in to tell me about diapering and/or potty training and developmental milestones. I read them religiously at first, when she was busy rejecting my breast but insisting on breast milk or when I thought her eczema was the worst diaper rash known to man, but I haven't read any of them lately. By lately, I mean in the last two years. I see them and just hit delete. Poof! No thinking, just doing.

This morning, as I scrolled through emails I saw it. It literally screamed at me from the screen. PAMPERS: YOUR CHILD IS 34 MONTHS OLD.I couldn't stop staring at it, mouth agape. I wondered how my baby could be 34 months old. That's two months shy of three years old. Nuh uh! Oh, no ma'am. My baby isn't three years old! Then I realized the subject line had changed somewhere along the way from "Your Baby" to "Your Child"...

It seems she's grown from infant to toddler to preschooler in the blink of an eye. Her babyhood is long gone. I think of time as a river. Collectively, the river of time is deep and wide but today, just for me, it is shallow and swift as I watch it suck the sand from beneath my toes.



*The photo above was taken at the end of my eigth month of pregnancy with Zoe. I always wore my gold dipped peanut when I was pregnant. Joe took to calling it "The Golden Turd" but I could not be deterred from wearing it. You could shake it a little and hear the tiny little dried peanuts rattle around inside. I'm all about me some symbolism.*