I am feeling kind of ambivalent about my youngest turning four. I do not look at pregnant ladies with longing for another baby. In fact, I am thrilled to not be making any more babies, ever. I am thrilled to be done with diapers (until my own incontinence) and baby food and strollers and slings and blunted plastic utensils.
But my baby turned four. She is right around the corner from not needing me home all day long. She is far from not needing me, I am aware of that. It’s just different with her than it was with the boys.
I know she is the last one. I enjoyed her babyhood more. I wasn’t chasing after a toddler, or missing out on toddler things because I was looking after a baby. I was not looking after someone who was sick and/or dying. I wasn’t moving (ok, we moved a few times) or packing/unpacking for months at a time (we stored the unpacked boxes).
I didn’t do anything for this birthday. We have no friends with young children (indeed, we have no friends) and she isn’t in any programs and therefore had no little friends to invite. My dads mom and sister came over. My moms parents were in Naples – we’re going to go see them next weekend. We had steak and knishes and salad and trifle and cake. We took her out to sushi the next day, because the plumber was here on her actual birthday.
I convinced her she really is four, and today convinced her that her birthday is over, but she is still four. I took some photos (which I haven’t unloaded).
And that was that.
Next year, school? Maybe, maybe not. Apparently VPK is only a 3 hour day through the public school. What a waste of time. I may keep her home. She doesn’t make the cut off for K next year.
