33 months old

Taylor passed her 33-months-of-being-alive marker this past week, putting us a mere three months away from both her big birthday and her welcoming a brother or a sister to her life. Yes, we are just about 12 weeks away from welcoming a new little peanut into the party mix we call our family, with our almost-three year old being the spicy nugget of our ensemble. She's definitely the star of the show that gives our entire family that extra boost of flavor.

Our little Princess showed us a lot of love, growth and sass these past weeks, making for one wonderful, yet frustrating, month. We were able to experience the sweet, unparalleled joy of watching our precious girl open Christmas gifts, and we were also subject to some of the biggest, earth-quaking tantrums we had ever witnessed. The emotional rollercoaster we call living with a toddler… It's not easy, but all you need just one unexpected hug, smooch or, I love you Mommy, and that's enough to make this the best job ever.

So we did hit a few milestones this month, one of which was getting her teeth cleaned at the dentist. We had a routine checkup right before Christmas, and both Dr Jennifer and I were blown away by how awesome Taylor handled the whole appointment. Of course it helps that our dentist is a good friend, but Miss T was super cooperative with both the cleaning and the examination. And not only did everyone leave the session with their fingers in tact, but I'm happy to report that despite the gummies-intake, our Princess has perfectly healthy teeth.

I would have to say that the biggest milestone we hit this past month was moving into her big girl bed. We've been crib-free for over two weeks, and she has been sleeping like a champ in her new space. And while it is harder to get her to fall asleep at nap-time with all that freedom surrounding her, all she'll do when she gets out is grab a few books, crawl back up in her bed and under her covers and read, and then I'll catch a glimpse of her on the video-monitor, totally snoozing with a book open across her chest. As my mother says, She's a Blackwell!

Taylor has also become quite the question asker lately. All day long I am peppered with inquiries such as, Mom, what that lady doing? Where that person going? Who that? Why her wearing a hat inside? What him eating? And because Chris and I are the only source of Taylor's education right now, we try to respond with each interrogation with facts and general knowledge. Well, Honey, I think that man is going to the post office, or I believe that woman thinks berets are back in style and is trying to look sophisticated while buying her cat food.

And while her simple inquiries are pretty adorable, sometimes it is quite obvious that she's just talking to her herself speak. She loves her voice about as much as she adores her own reflection in the mirror. The minute she catches a glimpse of herself in any sort of reflective surface, she stops, twirls and says, I look beautiful, Mom. And I always respond, Yes you do, Love. You look perfect. And, as a both a mother and a woman, I hope with all my heart that she never stops admiring her own loveliness and charm in the mirror. Because she will always be the most splendid thing I've ever seen.

But this month wasn't all silly questions and glamour, we had a number of come-aparts that shook both of us to the core. After almost a year of handling Taylor-tantrums, I had started priding myself in being able to calmly deal with the unnecessary crying fits and occasional tests of my authority. But, whether it be she's evolving past my yoga-breathing or the fact that I am entering my third-trimester, we had a few instances this past month that incited high-octave screaming and left both of us crying on her bedroom floor.

For example, Taylor is currently in a no-pants faze. As in, she has refused to wear anything resembling jeans, pants or leggings for the past month. Couple that with both the freezing temperatures outside and the light-weight princess costumes she has been gifted, and getting her dressed in an appropriate outfit to leave the house has turned into a daily battle. So a few weeks ago, Paige and I decided to treat our Princesses to a matinee of Tangled, the new Rapunzel movie. I was looking forward to it, and Taylor was thrilled to go to a big girl movie with her buddy. Well, I woke her up from her nap to go the show, and after informing her that we would have to put pants on under her costume to go, the scene that followed was one of her shrieking and squirming on the floor as I laid all six and half months of my pregnant body on top of her and forced her kicking limbs into leggings. And after ten minutes of wrestling her and threatening her that we wouldn't go, I finally became so overwhelmed and frustrated that I swatted her bottom. And she stopped still, her face grew bright red and she screamed at me, MY BOOTY! And then we both gave up, exhausted and hysterical on the floor.

And after fighting her sobbing, yet wearing pants-self into the carseat so we didn't miss the movie, I had to stop and count to ten before driving out of the driveway because I was so frazzled. Because the last thing I ever wanted to be was the Mom who spanks and yells at her kid. And after collecting ourselves, depuffing our cry-eyes and getting some I'm-sorry-I-spanked-you popcorn and treats, we were all smiles by the time Tangled's opening scene began. And as I held her close while watching the Princess-wonderfulness unfold before us, I just kept kissing her head and savoring the moment. Because in just a few months it won't be as easy for me to just take a Thursday afternoon to go see a movie with my daughter. So for the next 12 weeks I need to just soak-up all the Taylor-time I can, even if that means she's not wearing pants.