I love being a mom. But sometimes I find myself loving moments and looking back and wondering what I was thinking...
I love that my baby is strong enough to push herself up and off of things.
I hate that it means that she pushes herself off of me while I'm holding her.
I loved when my baby learned to blow raspberries.
I hate it when she does it with a mouth full of food.
I love that my baby is growing and becomes more interactive each day.
I hate that my baby is growing and becoming less of the little bug I brought home from the hospital.
I love when my baby poops after a bout of constipation and two prune/apple juice cocktails.
I hate when I have to clean it moments later.
I love that my baby is on the verge of crawling.
I hate that it means that soon I can no longer leave her on the floor with toys and leave her for a moment without supervision.
I will love it when my baby takes her first steps.
I will hate it shortly thereafter when I realize that my home and baby are no longer safe.
I will love when she says her first words.
I will hate what that word is if I don't start watching the words I use...