Today, my Little Pumpkin turns two years old, and I have mixed feelings about it.

Five weeks

I’m not afraid of the “terrible twos.” I do not fear toddler tantrums or bad behavior.

I am afraid of her growing independence. I’m afraid of letting go. I’m scared of the hurts I know will come, and I’m scared because I won’t be able to fix them.

Seven months

I’m happy that she constantly challenges herself to do better, get bigger, and learn more. She was an early walker, an early talker, and an early climber. She wants to do everything before she’s supposed to.

I am sad that childhood is fleeting, and I’m sad that she won’t understand just how short it is until it’s too late. I’m sad because it feels like she was a teeny infant last week, and she turns two years old today. I’m sad that the days go by too quickly no matter how much I relish each one.

Fifteen months

I am proud of the person she is. She’s crazy smart and kind and sweet and sensitive.  She loves to sing and color and dance. She sings the ABCs and counts 2-3-8-9. She’s enthusiastic and affectionate and tenacious and curious.

I’m not so proud that she calls her father Joe and colors on my walls. I’m not so proud that she’s as impatient as her mother.

Nineteen months

I adore that she is Momma’s girl and that she wants me to hold her, love her, soothe her, and protect her. I adore that she copies everything I do and everything I say. I adore that she thanks the waitress, offers me a sip of her drink and a bite of her brownie, and says “Bless you” to everyone, whether they sneeze or not. I adore that she narrates her world for me in the same way I’ve always narrated mine for her.

I detest her sweet tooth and her affection for pop and her recent propensity to deny kisses and hugs, but I love how her head has always fit just so in the crease of my elbow.

Twenty-three months

I can think of nothing in this world that I love to see more than her little grin and her sparkling blue eyes, nothing I love to feel more than her little fingers wrapper around mine, and no sound sweeter to my ears than her raucous laughter.

Happy Birthday, Little Pumpkin! I hope you’ll let me hold your hand one more day.

Four days before her second birthday (lip color courtesy of raspberry lollipop)

Happily submitted to Your Life Your Blog, Monday’s Muse, I am Blissfully Domestic,