That happened on Monday. The girls turned three. Three!
As momentous as this landmark may seem, and as prematurely as it seems to have arrived, I just can't muster up a lot of gooey sentimentality for the occasion. I love the girls on their birthday just the same as I did the day before (which is a really really lot.)
They're growing up, and I'm ambivalent about that. And I'm constantly amazed at the process. I guess that's why the birthday doesn't make me all weepy: because part of me is a little weepy every day when the increments of their growth sneak up on me. Especially now that they're in school a couple days a week, and they know more things when I pick them up in the afternoon than they did when I dropped them off in the morning. I've understood what the word "bittersweet" means for a long time, and I've recognized the feeling in books and movies; but I don't know if I had ever experienced it firsthand before having kids.
The fact that they clicked past the 1,095-day mark didn't really freak me out or make me reflect any more than usual on how they've grown, since I reflect on it pretty much continuously. But it was a great excuse to celebrate with a big adventure.
We decided not to have a birthday party this year, for all the reasons any sane person might be reluctant to do so. Instead, we just spent the day pretending to be tourists in our city. And it was one of the best days ever.
First, we jumped on the trolley, and went downtown to the waterfront. Despite Cobra covering her ears for the duration of her first trolley experience, she claimed that she "loved" it.
|Cobra didn't like the noise in the station|
|Nor did she like the noise inside the trolley car.|