it was just an illusion anyway.

I'm hitting a huge parenting milestone today. I realized that it is currently time to get over myself...

...and throw my daughter a Frozen birthday party.

{Insert all the crying emojis here}

And now marks the time when I officially relinquish (some of) the control I've had since before Rowan was born. Oh, yeah, don't worry, I know it's a total control issue. But so far, I've been able to decorate her nursery, choose her outfits, and lord over her daily schedule like it's my job. (Uhhh, cuz it is.) For her birthday party, I had this super-cute autumn theme brewing in my head and on my Pinterest boards, but I hadn't pulled the trigger yet on any decorations or plans. Actually, as of this morning, I was kind of over the idea of a donut cake and pumpkin-whip dip, and the plan was to dust the cobwebs off last year's streamers and napkins (ew, the napkins aren't actually cobwebby) and just use those. 

Then, like an hour ago, my mama friend sent me ridiculously adorable pictures of ridiculously adorable Frozen crap she found, and I imagined Rowan walking into her birthday party and seeing Frozen stuff everywhere (snowflakes, sparkles, I don't know), and I thought about how her face would light up, probably just like this...

(Thanks to Aunt Jill for this pic, and for such a fun lunch outing - made Rowan's entire week!)

...and, shit. This is how kids end up with brand-new Ferraris on their sixteenth birthdays, isn't it? ISN'T IT? Because time just slips away, and before you know it, your teeny-tiny, only-crawling, no-words-yet, snuggly little baby goes from this:

{One year ago almost exactly}

...to this - a wiggly toddler who won't sit still and is no longer amused by the idea of taking pictures on the couch:

{September 2015}

But let's be real. I'm not actually giving up control. Just the illusion of control. Because some days I choose her clothes and her meals and where she eats her food, and other days?

Wearing a bib, a diaper, and a (hidden) plastic doctor-kit Band-Aid.

My baby's growing up, which is just as bittersweet as every mothering cliche would have you believe. 

Off to Pin a thousand recipes for blue Elsa punch.