Today, on our way home from day care, Stella and I were marveling at the fleeting sunshine we were being blessed with. The skies have been vomiting rain for about a month straight now and we have all about had our fill.

Stella has been particularly aware of the distinction between, as she puts it: sunnyandhot (all one word) or waaaaaiiiiin. Of particular interest to her is what she can do when it is sunnyandhot versus when we have waaaaiiin. Today, for instance, as we stepped out into the sunlight, she alerted me that it was sunnyandhot and that she can put on her bathing suit and play in the backyard. To which, I had to delicately explain that it isn’t that kind of sunnyandhot yet. And in trying to keep the conversation moving so as to not allow her too much time to realize the ultimate unfairness of it all, I proceeded to explain that we need to buy her a new bathing suit anyway because her other one is too small.

Whew.

About two stoplights later the questions begin:

“Why is my bathing suit too small?”
“Well, because you are getting bigger.”
“Why am I getting bigger?”
“Because that is just what happens. When you get older and older you also get bigger and bigger.”
“Why?”
“It’s just what happens.”
“But why, mommy?”

It is at this point that I realize I am out-matched in this conversation. I think advanced interrogation specialist trainings must be conducted by by 2-year-olds. I am picturing myself in an empty room with a bare lightbulb being shined in my face.

“Well, you get bigger and bigger all the time. One day you will be big like mommy.”
“My no want to get bigger.”

I did my best not to take this comment personally.

“None of us do, Stella.”

Last night, Steve had an epiphone: “It is so wierd to think that Stella is actually done with diapers. I mean, there was no ceremonial ‘last time’ or any realization that we were coming to the end of an era that has ruled our lives for the last two years. I can’t believe it went so fast.”

To which, I can only respond that everything has been this way. The last time she crawled (out of pure necessity), the last time she ate baby food, the last time she recreationally licked the refrigerator. All of these things end so quickly and – for the most part – without fanfare. Sure, we break out the pinatas when it comes to all of her “firsts”, but it is all of those “lasts” that we never really seem to recognize.

As a big punctuation mark on this whole thing, today I was sent home with the few remaining diapers left at day care. It is officially over…

…at least for the next 2 and a half months.

Picture it:

Steve, Stella and Natalie are sitting at a local mexican food restaurant for lunch. Natalie (she who has the equivalent of a wriggling boulder sitting directly on her bladder) excuses herself to use the restroom. As she emerges from the bathroom and begins the trek back towards the table on the other side of the cavernous room hears her daughter yelling at the top of her lungs, “Mommy! MommyMommyMommyMommy! I so glad you’re back!! Yeaaaaaaa!” And yes, she was also applauding.