Harley is now a two-year-old. I honestly can’t even wrap my head around it. I mean, I can, but I can’t. On the one hand, I look at old pictures of my little monkey and I hardly even recognize that squishy face. She has lengthened and grown and become a real little girl, capable of so much more than I ever thought a two-year-old could do. On the other hand, she is still my baby, my tiny human who seems to take up a huge amount of space in my heart and my home compared to her size.
Harley turned two a couple weeks back, and I kept promising myself that I would write about it. There isn’t much to write about the day itself because we don’t know many people here and decided against trying to do any kind of big shindig. Instead, her school had a small celebration for her with cupcakes I sent in, we gave her a whole bunch of presents from us and her South African grandparents (more on that soon) and saw my mom the next day to celebrate together (and give her even MORE presents) over sushi and soup thanks to the plague Harley gave all of us from starting a new school.