One Year.

It's not fair. Consider this my tantrum.
I used to have a baby.
She looked like this:

 Once upon a time. Or exactly one year ago today. Oh, I miss this little girl. Sorta. I miss the sweet sleepy smiles and snuggly soft cheeks.

 I miss the juicy lips. Why on earth do babies have to grow up? I'm fairly certain that the reason is so that we'll have more babies, but that plan has worked on me five times and I'll be damned if I let it work again. Maybe.

 I miss the squishy cheeks. This is probably the fattest Libby ever got. 2 months old. I imagine she might weigh 15 pounds now. MIGHT.

 Ah yes. Three months. She looks almost exactly the same today. I miss the tiny clothes.

 For example, this dress which I knit her with my bare hands (and needles) no longer fits. What do you do with a handknit item that your child has grown out of?? Seriously. Four months old and already slimming down.

 She's a skeptical one, that Libby. Not really. But it's really a wonder that I accomplish anything during her waking hours, simply based on the amount of time I spend snuggling with/on her. (5 months).

 At six months old, it was as if someone flipped her personality button. All my other children vie for her constant attention. Special points awarded to those who can make her laugh.

 By seven months old, Libby has fallen in line with the other kids. She's just one of the crowd.

 And at 8 months old, she turned on the major cutes button. Unfair advantage, Libby.

 Nine months old and breaking hearts everywhere. Especially Daddy.

 Ten months marked the "I refuse to be seen and not heard." Girl got loud.

 Month 11 blew by in a heartbeat. She started walking all over the place and didn't look back. I miss that old baby. The one that crawled. The one that avoided the stairs. The one that only had eyes for me. I miss the squishy soft baby they handed me that day one year ago in the hospital. I miss her bad.

 Because now I'm left with a big, grown up baby. A walking, jabbering, mess-maker.

 A baby with no regard to her momma's feelings. A little love that doesn't care if mom needs her baby girl back. Desperately.

 That's right. I'm having an extremely hard time coming to terms. Someone stole my baby. And I'm ticked.

 Of course, they left me with this totally fantastic, hilarious, adorably precious toddler who makes my heart explode daily.

 But I'm still pissed. Only not really.

 

Sad, yes. Happy, yes.