If you read my blog regularly, you may have noticed.
If you and I are connected on Facebook, you’ve seen it too.
I can’t help myself. I am addicted to dressing up my daughter and showing her off. Now that my son is in Kindergarten, I’ve made a conscious effort to post about him less for his own privacy- and well, baby girl is at that age where she is doing something cute every other minute. I want to just inhale these moments and never let them end.
Maybe its because she’s the baby. Maybe its because there is just a little something special between Mothers and Daughters , or maybe its the very real possibility there will not be any more complicated children entering the world… Whatever the reason, one thing is for sure- I am milking every last baby moment I have with her.
For Christmas my Mother and Step-father bought her an American Girl “Bitty Baby” and attached to it was a reservation for a “Girls Lunch” at The American Girl Place in NYC. I might have been more excited than she was. Ok, strike that. I WAS more excited than she was.
That is until we got there.
Two may seem like a young age for American Girl Lunches and shopping, but Princess is the girliest girl you have ever met and she ate the whole experience right up!
Lunch was adorable. They give your doll a high chair, tea cup and plate. The food was surprisingly good and the servings generous (4 courses!) And while, the chocolate mousse and warm cinnabuns were probably not within my points plus allotment
for the day, I am pretty sure even Jennifer Hudson would have given me a pass for the day.
Look at the joy on baby girls face as she goes from one thing to the next on shop floor…
Who could put a price (or point value) on that? Not I, my friend.
The day was perfect and being there, sharing the day and making memories with 3 generations of Complicated Mama’s, was a little emotional even for this non-cryer.
True, Princess will not remember the day- but believe me the tons of pictures and videos we took will give her memories to look back on for a life time.
