Last night the kid asked me to tell her a story about her sleeping. This was a bedtime stall tactic, but she was having a lot of issues so I went with it.

I told her the story of her first night in the world and leaving the hospital and that when we got home I took her out of her car seat and gave her to Grandma and she slept almost all day.

She asked me for another story about ‘when I’m little’ and I sat there on her bed trying to think. I have hundreds of pictures of her, I used to take at least one a day. All those pictures and I couldn’t think of another story for her.

The time has gone by so fast it’s unbelievable. Soon she’ll be three, I’m looking around at pre-schools, she’s so talkative and active. It’s hard to remember those times when she could hold her own head up or crawl. It’s funny to think that months ago she was saying single words and now she’s putting together pretty great sentences.

I can’t believe two and a half years ago I had never even met her. Someone so fundamental to my life.

I remember her first night and day and night. I remember my first day at home alone with her, when the first thing I did was knock my water onto my computer and cry because I was at home alone with a baby, terrified of her, terrified of leaving the house and I had just fried my connection to the outside world.

But that’s not a great story to tell her.

I guess that’s why I blog. Tomorrow I can read up on my own life and tell her another story. I can look at the pictures I’ve taken and tell her what we were doing.

I can tell her that I’m not exactly sure when I fell head over heels for her, but she’s got me now.

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