My baby girl turned one today. In an instant she grew into this little being that can walk, is starting to talk, throws dramatic tantrums, and can eat endless amounts of ice cream. It seems like just days ago she was a tiny little thing that just wanted to be snuggled, nursed, and left to sleep.
Yes, she still nurses (and though I say I’m ready to be done, I’m not so sure either of us really are…), and she still cuddles, but she’s getting so darn big. By the time my son was this age I had baby fever and we were talking about the possibility of a second. When he turned one, I didn’t have a meltdown about my baby getting so big… my baby… my baby…
This is it. This is my last baby, and she’s one. We’re getting ready to say goodbye to the baby years, altogether. I’ve already handed off most of the baby gear that you only need for the first year or so – the exersaucer, the bumbo seat, the infant carrier… and that didn’t make it seem final. But with Paige turning the big one, it’s really hitting home.
I spend my days wishing for them to go by quickly. Wishing for the kids to get to an easier stage. Wishing for the future to hurry up and happen.
Honestly, right now I’m wishing for time to slow down. A year ago I was getting to know my newborn daughter. Just over two and a half years ago I was getting to know my newborn son. Tomorrow I’m going to enjoy them.