Dear 2015 Me,
If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you know that 2015 was the year of the sippy cups, the year of the endless puffs snack, and the year my son—my little "Buddy"—was three years old. Three is a magic, chaotic age. It’s the year they stop being toddlers and start becoming little people. It’s the year of the "why" phase, the tantrum in the grocery store checkout line, and the first time they say "I love you" without being prompted.
One day, that boy won’t need you to put the band-aid on. He’ll do it himself. One day, he’ll stop calling you "Mommy" in public and switch to a curt "Mom." One day, you’ll miss the sticky handprints on the sliding glass door. buddy's mom2015
So why “Buddy’s mom 2015”?
I wasn’t looking for a person named Buddy. I was looking for me . Dear 2015 Me, If you’ve been following this
Go hug your "Buddy." And take the photo. Even the messy one. Especially the messy one.
But looking at that photo now, eight years later, I see it differently. It’s the year of the "why" phase, the
#Motherhood #Memories #Throwback #Family