Today I take my baby in for her five year well-child visit. I am not one to do the “my baby is growing up” angst, mainly because my baby has never had a phase that was so easy that I wanted to stick with it. Still, I haven’t wanted to wish away her childhood, either.

Somehow, this birthday is hard. Maybe it’s because despite her sass, she’s pretty fun. Maybe it’s her dawning comprehension of aging and death (we talk about death on a daily basis, rather casually, which is weird but there you are). Maybe it’s Gman’s milestone birthday last month. Maybe it’s my slowly dawning realization complete terror that there will be a time when I won’t be here when she needs me.

I do know that I’m not looking forward to the height/weight percentiles the way I used to, even though this is the first year without shots and the first year she shrugs off a blood pressure cuff with a “meh” instead of having a screaming tantrum.

It’s still the same basic event, though: Gman always takes time off of work, we drive to the boonies (ish), because the pediatrician is worth the trip. We’ll have lunch somewhere fun (hopefully sushi).

And then we’ll go tour the guided missile destroyers downtown, because, well, that’s what she wants to do. Baby’s growing up.