Turning 30 and other scary milestones

Milestones are funny things. You know they're coming. And they either excite you, depress you, or scare the boogies out of you. And sometimes they do it all at the same time.

I turned 30 last Friday. Which of the three did this milestone hit me with? None. Some people have a really hard time with birthdays. Not me. It's just a number. It's coming, there's nothing I can do about it. Do I feel older? A little. I'm pretty aware, for example, that while I'm 30 and have a 2 year old, most of my friends are not 30 yet and are on baby #3 or #4. So I guess I lied. Turning 30 did make me something... it made me anxious to keep the family wagon rolling, hehe. I'm definitely getting 'the itch'.

The milestone of the month that's affected me most, however, is my son's. See below:

Now he's not actually potty-trained yet. Yet. But I know it's coming. He's giving me aaaallll the signs of physical and emotional readiness. He hides from me when he's poopin. He tells me when he needs a bum change (he mixes 'change' and 'bum' into "chum". Freakin hilarious), he knows the order of the bathroom - go in, turn on the light, lift the lid, sit, do yer stuff, close, flush, wash - and loves to do the same on his own potty, he can have a 2 hour nap and wake up dry, and perhaps the biggest reason we're ready to get the training going is that his diapers are starting to irritate his sensitive skin. He's ready to be done with diapers. He's ready. Mommy's not. I'm goin into this kicking and screamin. I don't want my baby's little skinny bum to be in little cute briefs. I don't want him to be independent. I don't want him to not be 'baby' anymore. At the same time, I'm excited to be at this new phase with him. He's growing up so cute, and I love every minute of it. Wish us all luck, cause we're jumpin into this feet first next weekend!


In non-milestone news, this week Caden's PT made my entire month. We, along with his OT, have been discussing ways to help him hold onto zippers; he can't curl his fingers so he can't get or keep a good grip. Two weeks ago the three of us batted around hooking a safety pin to the end of them, molding some putty/clay stuff, had all sorts of ideas. Well then this Tuesday at his class, his teacher handed me this:

Barbara, his PT, had found it somewhere during the week before and had bought it just for him. It's only about an inch long, and just thick enough for him to grab and hold onto. I love it. He definitely has a hold on this therapists' hearts.