Wow.

My baby is eight month olds now. She is big. She is funny. She wears sunglasses outside. She eats cheese. So many things. It's amazing to watch her grow and change each day. Her little brain is processing so much. I wonder how she will be when she is one, two, eight, twelve, but at that same time, I wish she was still that tiny little bundle that slept on me. Being a parent is the weirdest thing I have ever done. I feel every feeling all the time. I am the same person I was but I am totally different. I am lonely often but I want to be alone alone which I never am. I want to be more than just a mom but right now all I want is to be a mom. Walking contradiction, always and forever. 

Kiki is seeming older and older each day, too. My poor kitty has tender hips. We have stairs for her to get on the couch and onto the bed. She has a food bowl in each room so she doesn't need to go far if she doesn't feel like it. Her food was discontinued (Canyon River Creek, WHY?) so we've been sampling various foods, trying to find the ones she will eat with her arthritis pills mixed in. Her meowing is out of control, she is SO LOUD. It's so frustrating sometimes, when it's 3 am, or when she manages to wake up Hazel just as she finally goes down for a nap, but I have to remind myself that my beautiful loud cat will not live forever and I need to appreciate every moment with her that I have left. She is seventeen years old now. SEVENTEEN. She has been with through every important moment of my adult life. No cats will ever mean as much to as Kiki and Roo (I miss you, every day, sweet girl), no chance. And of course, there will be other cats in my life, I am sure of that, but these girls have meant the world to me, have been my best friends and confidants, my pillows, my blankets, my babies. So I will do whatever I can to make Kiki's twilight years as comfortable as possible. Great. Now I am crying.