Four Years Old

Can you believe it? Wee One is four years old.

For the past four years and nine months, I have been anxious and worried and freaking out about how I would handle having a baby and then a toddler. All that talk about terrible twos and the threenager threat. I was so worried about being a good mother to her during that time.

It really helped me to keep my cool when I thought about cognitive development and what her brain was going through when I saw her actions. But I just realize, her brain is a big girl brain now. Well, not big, but not a toddler. Now she’s a little kid. Her frontal lobe is developed a little more. This is going to change how I treat her and what I expect of her.

She’s still pretty attached to me, which I love. (Usually. Let me bathe, child.) I would love, like all parents, to be close with her throughout her life. I sought advice from a joyous and kind friend about how he and his wife kept such good close relationships with their (now adult) daughters:

“Pick the age where you make the most memories with them, and never mature beyond that. They’re still our playmates. If someone tells you that you can’t be friends with your children, punch them in the throat, then go play with your children. My girls don’t see me as an adult, so I never have to pretend. Remember the wonder you felt the first time you saw them, then always look at them that way. You can’t say I love you too often, and tell them how much you miss them when they’re not around.”

Love this, love you, Bill, and love having you to look up to. 😘

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