I get it.

For the past few days, you have had your first cold.  I blame your snot-nosed, booger-eating cousin, Lucas, from Christmas Day.  Anyway, it's no fun.  Especially using the sucker thing ("aspirator" sounds so stuffy) on your nose.  My god, you fight me as if your very life is on the line when I try to use that thing on you.  And you now eye me suspiciously whenever I try to get you to lean back.

In trying to take the best care of you I could possibly take, as soon as I noticed your stuffy nose I jumped into action.  I let you have a couple nibbles of grapefruit for vitamin C.  I made a small pot of homemade chicken noodle soup and added a little fresh lemon and ginger.  Now I think the citrus has given you a terrible diaper rash that we've been trying to clear up.

Blargh.

To make it up to you, I've been trying to amuse you as much as possible when you feel like playing.

(Cool Whip painting on New Year's Eve)

(Tearing up the extra Christmas bows on New Year's Day)

As part of our diaper rash treatment, I have been giving you some "non-dipey" time (part of this weird mommy language I have adopted) several times a day.  It's helped a lot, and we've only ended up with a couple of puddles when I didn't time it well.  On New Year's Eve I took off your diaper and you crawled away excitedly when you saw Dora the Explorer pop up on the television.  You stood up to watch her and immediately began to pee.  The unfamiliar noise of liquid dripping into a puddle at your feet caught your attention, and you leaned over to watch.  My heart swelled with love for you at that moment.

And now I get it.  I get why women want to have another child.  After enduring pregnancy and childbirth and the first four months of your life, I SWORE that I couldn't even fathom it.  And most of me still can't. Those are the parts of me with good sense. But there is a deep and primal yearning in me that has just begun to hit full force in the last couple of weeks...

I know!  I know!  You will not be having a brother or sister, believe me.

But on December 19 at 4:45 p.m., you took your first step.  You are now up to as many as 8-10 consecutive steps at a time.  I clap and cheer for you as you grin with pride, but deep inside something in me is screaming, Slow down! And as you are learning to walk I panic at the knowledge that I will never again have my tiny baby girl.  You are no longer an infant; you are a toddler.  While I have no choice but to go along, I am not ready.