Yesterday we went around the house checking and changing the calendars (we do have a few) and as she was checking the large one on the wall in the lounge room I noticed that she had stopped still, and was concentrating. A few moments passed and then she declares... "29 days plus 11 mum. Then I'll be 8". Not 40 days (which by now you may have calculated already) but 29 + 11, 29 for August and 11 for September.
I love how eager she is to turn eight, and how she awaits her special day with such anticipation.
It was only a few months ago that I turned 35, and I certainly didn't have a countdown to the big day. When do we stop counting down the days? When does time become more like an enemy and less of an exciting friend? Or when does changing months on a calendar suddenly make us groan as we realise time truly is fleeting, and is no longer met with thrills and anticipation of days to come.
When did we grow up?
So now I have less than 29 + 11 days to make LittleBee's big day a special one.
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