Hopes & Dreams

When Olive was first born, she was gifted a lovely baby book. Or no. Rephrase. When Olive was first born, I was gifted a baby book. Because let's get real people. A baby book is really just mommy homework. Super moms eagerly fill them in regularly (like they're supposed to) while shitty moms *ahem*, push them to the side until their child hits 9 months of age, and then freak out. "What was the ankle biter's first word? When did she take her first step? A mini envelope to house a lock of hair from her first haircut?!" Uh-oh. I'd like to phone-a-friend...

Having forgotten all the sentimental stuff (details of who, what, when and where), I recall jumping to fill in all the blanks that did not require me to jog my memory. "Hopes and dreams for baby." Ermahgerd! I can tackle this one. I can make this up now. Felt-tip pen in hand, I scribbled, "When you grow up, I hope you grow up to be a happy non-asshole." Oh shit. I did not just curse in her baby book.

I did. Needless to say, I stopped filling out Olive's baby book after the third page...

Fast forward to today, my baby girl is exactly what I hoped and dreamed for. A happy non-asshole.

She is such a delight to have around. Funny and chatty. Kind and generous. Now... was I supposed to be more specific? As in, what hopes and dreams I hope for her career-wise? She's only two, but check her out. My little sous chef...

I may have created a monster...

Baby apron and utensils by Odette Williams