Twenty-two months.

I remember this date last year, being kind of overwhelmed that in two months she'd be one. In some ways it's no different this year, and now I would guess that every year you kind of sit back and say where has the time gone and how is she this old and on and on.

I remember walking with her to the park that Sunday for her ten month pictures, her carried on my hip in the sling, how she went with me everywhere, and now, one year later, I have a child with whom I converse all day long. It's hard to remember what I said all those long days before she said things back. It's hard to imagine she wasn't always telling me I lub you Mommy and Mommy kiss it and Mommy pick-a up you.

And what's even harder is to imagine where she'll be next year when I won't believe she'll be, well, another year older. I really can't say it just yet.