The Death of Babyhood

My Claire is two.  This girl, who I thought would be our last baby, has remained tiny in my heart. This is in spite of the fact that she is potty-trained, dresses herself well, (sort of), feeds herself well, (ok, now I'm just lying), and is generally the busiest, most exuberant person I have ever met.  The other night, however, she changed my perspective.  I was tucking her into my bed, (that's right), and we had this conversation.

Me: Goodnight Bear.

Claire:  No Mommy, don't say goonite bear.

Me: Ok, um, I love you.

Claire: Don't say love you!

(This is all normal when she's tired.  I'm not allowed to say anything, because it is all intolerable when you're two and you need to sleep).

Me: Ok.  <I pull the covers over her and kiss her forehead in lieu of saying anything> 

Claire: No Mommy! Don't kiss my! (Not a typo.  She often replaces 'me' with 'my' and I ♥ it.)   

Me: What? I can't kiss you? My kiss means I love you!

Claire: No Mommy.  Eees so GWOSS!


And there you have it people.  The day the baby transformed into a kid, and crushed her mother in the process. She has always loved kisses and snuggles.  ALWAYS.  Now my kisses are gwoss.  I guess it's a good thing our fourth little love made a surprise appearance, or I'd probably be crumpled up on the floor in a ball, rocking a stuffed animal or something.  Sheesh.  

So what about you? How did your little ones discard of their babyhood?