Today Ivy officially turns 3, but nobody tell her that. She thinks her birthday was on Saturday.
That's when we had cake. Cake that my sister Hannah and I spent the entire day before making. It's supposed to be a flower.
Hannah and my mom also made a banner, because I'm morbidly pregnant and tired and incapable of doing anything beyond blowing up balloons. This is also why I made my mom and Stephen's mom do all the food for the party.
We crammed both sets of grandparents and my siblings into our not-large apartment, ate amazing soup and salad, and watched as Ivy was spoiled rotten with everything a 3-year-old princess could ever want. It pays to be the first grandchild on BOTH sides. It pays in toys, specifically.
I'm considering having a maternity test done because I'm not so sure Ivy is mine. She doesn't like chocolate cake. She likes the idea of birthday cake, the singing and the candles and the decorative shapes, but she refuses to even take a bite of the actual baked good. I, on the other hand, have had cake for breakfast every day for the past three days.
I guess it doesn't matter whether or not she consumes anything so long as we got the picture, right?
I'm struggling to wrap my head around three years. The way kids change feels both very gradual and very sudden. I couldn't tell you the difference in Ivy's maturity from one day to the next, but over the past year, even the past six months, she's gone from baby Ivy to little girl Ivy. Potty-trained, bottle-free, having conversations, dressing herself, sometimes driving me nuts, sometimes making me laugh.
I was in a...mood last night. The kind of mood one gets in when one is ready to not be pregnant anymore but is still very, very pregnant. I threw the parenting reigns at Stephen, who did a professional job of getting Ivy prepped and ready for bed. But the bedtime just didn't take. And at 10:30 at night, after hours of fighting sleep, Ivy yelled, "Mom! I'm hungry!" She may have actually been hungry, or she may have been stalling. But it seemed the fighting would only continue if the hunger claim was not addressed. So I begrudgingly started heating tortillas, Ivy's very favorite food in the world. And then I sat next to her as she took her sweet, sweet time eating the tortillas at 11 pm. I wanted to be upset with her, which shouldn't have been too difficult given my general upsettedness at the time, but she kept making me laugh with her commentary. She told me all about her day. About nursery, playing with her relatives at family dinner, about how Ollie wanted to eat a snack, and about how she's a princess. Also about how she watched the Lego Movie, and it wasn't scary. About how lions roar and pigs oink. It was one of the better conversations I've had in a while, and it made me grateful that I had thirty minutes to just sit and enjoy my kid. Our worlds are about to be rocked, that is if this baby ever decides to grace us with her presence, and I worry that Ivy will feel neglected or less important. But after getting a glimpse inside her world, I feel like she's ready to share it with another little person, and that maybe Ramona will be the best thing for her. And maybe we'll all have a late night conversation over tortillas another three years from now, and I'll be grateful I have thirty minutes to just sit and enjoy my two kids. Here's hoping.