Life as a New Mom: The Big Girl Edition [PHOTOS]

My baby isn't a baby anymore. She's brave. She's bold. She's precious and precocious and a perfect little mess. I'm now officially the mother of a BIG GIRL.

Dolores is 19 months old. Yesterday was a big day for us--she was promoted to a new class in daycare. It's a new room with a new schedule, new friends, new teachers--a complete 180 from her previous daycare routine. Dolly used to spend her days in the nursery with the other babies, but now she's part of a classroom. She has her own little cubby--I placed her back-up clothes there yesterday and stared at her name--a yellow label on a cubby, HER cubby.

I stared for a few minutes, feeling tears well up in my eyes. I'm so proud of her, how she's growing, how fast she's learning, how she's becoming this incredible little person I'm lucky enough to spend my life with--and the next thing I know, I'm standing alone in her classroom, crying like a lunatic in front of my kid's cubby.

*Sidenote: cubby is a weird word, right? I can't be the only person who thinks that it should be called a 'shelf' or 'locker' or anything but 'CUBBY.' I also feel like I've typed this word a thousand times already: cubby, cubby, CUBBY. Such a weird word.*

Dolly's a big girl now. We're about to start potty training her (please include me on your church's prayer list; I'm going to need it). She went to the pediatrician yesterday for her scheduled immunizations, and she didn't cry. She used to scream bloody murder the instant the nurse or her doctor walked into the exam room, but she didn't yesterday.

SHE DIDN'T EVEN CRY WHEN SHE GOT TWO SHOTS. I'm 100% serious. She flinched a bit, but that was it. She weighs 25 pounds and is one inch short of being THREE FEET tall--a far cry from the 19 inch, five pound preemie I brought home from St. Vincent's a year-and-a-half ago.

Dolly is a big girl. I love my big girl. I miss her days as a teeny-tiny, but now every day is an adventure. She sees the world the way I wish I could: with awe and wonder and this endearing eternal optimism. To her, everything is fun and exciting (except vegetables and bedtime which are cruel and unusual punishments), every day is a chance to explore, learn, and grow.

She's learning so much and teaching me just as much--I'm learning how to diffuse temper tantrums, how to tell the difference between an 'I'm-Angry-Because-I-Didn't-Get-My-Way-Mom-What-The-Heck' tantrum and an 'I'm-Frustrated-Because-Something-Is-Wrong-And-I-Lack-The-Communication-Skills-To-Adequately-Convey-What's-Wrong-To-You-So-Help-Me-Mom' Tantrum, how to structure her day, how to take things in stride, how to see things the way she does.

She has a sense of humor; she likes to make me laugh. She'll pretend to fall down and yell out "whoops!" and she makes up elaborate dances to the theme songs of her favorite cartoons. She even tries to tickle me, which always ends in fits of laughter for us both. She's sassy, too--she loves to model new clothes in front of the mirror in her nursery; she'll clasp her hands and squeal with glee when she sees how cute she looks.

I'm so proud of her. I love the big girl she is and she's becoming, and I can't wait to see what the future holds for us. It's going to be awesome.