My baby turned 2. I've been reminding myself lately how teeny tiny she used to be. She was born a little over six weeks early but was such a strong preemie. The nurses and docs in the NICU couldn't believe we had my due date right. They were certain she was at least two weeks older if not more because she was doing SO well. But I had been charting when I got pregnant and knew exactly when I'd gotten pregnant.
Link to Sarasota trip here.
Babies at 33-34 weeks gestation aren't supposed to know how to suck from a nipple or bottle. But Evie was ready to nurse before I was! She never needed a breathing tube and only spent ten (long) days in the hospital.
Now she's my big girl. Not my biggest big girl but she's not a baby anymore. She does still poop her pants, that's a given. But she can sin her ABCs and Happy Birthday. She can run and climb and dance. She loves taking care of her babies, pretending to cook in her play kitchen, look through books on her own for hours, and adores her big sister. She'll yell at me if a Taylor Swift or Justin Bieber song comes on and I don turn it up immediately (we'll work on her musical tastes I promise)
It's bittersweet when your last baby turns 2. But I'm really excited to see what tricks she and Claire will learn this year.
Love you girls!