Milestones Missed

In the middle of June, Mia finished kindergarten, I picked her up from her last day of school, and we flew out to Utah for six and a half weeks. I left with two little girls and a baby, but I came back with three girls that somehow feel so much older.



I am rather late, but on August 10, Elsie Jane was nine months old. During the preceding weeks at Nama's house she:
- learned to crawl super fast;
- learned to stand up and walk all along the walls and furniture (which is part of the reason that every picture of her for the next year will include some scrape, bruise, or mark on her face);
- stopped breast feeding;
- cut her first tooth (and now she has two!);
- learned to feed herself, expertly using her pincers to pick up cheerios or pieces of banana;
- climbed up the stairs for the first time;
- learned to play pat-a-cake, clapping and grinning whenever someone will play with her; and
-charmed everyone whom she met, especially her grandparents who cannot stand that she continues to learn things without them nearby to witness the events.



At the same time, I swear Mia grew as well. She is just so independent and capable. She excelled in her dance classes, learned to swim across the pool on her own, went on a two hour trail ride on her own horse, and was such a big help to me.

She also lost her first front tooth. Sniff. She will never look like my little girl again. There is just something about those top, permanent teeth coming in that makes kids look so much older. I am already dreading it.

When I looked in Mia's mouth and saw the gaping hole left behind from her baby tooth, I commented, "Mia, that is one big hole. I hope your new tooth isn't that big."

To which she replied, "Well, why not, Mom? Yours are huge!" Touche, my dear, touche.

And, on the note of the grown up things Mia says:

Earlier this week, for the first time I can recall, she used the peer pressure card on me. Mia had plans on creating a large village for her Calico Critters on the floor of her bedroom. Executing the necessary construction would necessitate relocating half of the toys in the house from the playroom to her room, where they are strictly not allowed. In the process of my insisting that I wanted the toys kept in the basement, she informed me, "I am the ONLY kid who doesn't get toys in my room. ALL my friends get to have toys in their rooms, and they are just the same size as my room!"

As she continued to work at persuading me, she made another argument about why she should get to move her toys to the bedroom and then simply stated, "I rest my case."

Whose daughter is she anyway?

Then, today, as she was telling me about her lesson at church she recited the seventh article of faith.

"That was great!" I complimented.

"Thanks, Mom," she said, "You're not so bad yourself."

I'm glad you think so, Mia. I don't think your turning out so bad either.