We all fell asleep feeling a little sick on Friday night.
I was the first one awake, 12 hours later, on Saturday morning. When Alice finally got up, it was past 9:30. I changed her into sweats, and she waddled into the living room, blinking and asking for apple juice.
“Oh,” she said when she saw her toy dishes still scattered with the newspaper over the coffee table. “A tea party? Yes?”
Alice’s tea parties are elaborate and inclusive. She passes out cups with spoons and saucers. “Careful. Really hot.”
OK. We will be careful.
She serves little wooden sweets with a little wooden spatula. “Some cake? Yes?”
This week, on the day she turns 2, Alice will move into a day care classroom for older toddlers. She has been, until now, in a room for infants and just-walkers. But the truth is, it’s been a long time since she has seemed like a baby to me.
Still, this feels abrupt. It makes me anxious and sort of sad. Because she doesn’t know what’s coming and because I know it will be hard at first and because I’m not sure how to prepare her.
And because I was wrong just now. She still seems like a baby to me.