11:03pm this evening marks 2 years since the little one made his entrance into the world. My baby is 2 today.
Today will be filled with laughter and smiles, and a few tears when I won’t let him drive his cars into the TV, or insist that he has to wear socks. Much like any other day for him, just with more paper tearing than normal. But for me, it is a very bitter sweet day.
I’ve been here before. I remember when the big one turned two, but then I had no idea what a monumental year it would be. Now I do. First birthdays are special, but second birthdays mark the beginning of the end. This will be the year that we say goodbye to nappies (please, please, please let the gods of potty training be kind to me). This will be the year that we say hello to the big boy bed. This will be the year that the high chair is swapped for a seat at the table. This will be the year that he decides naps are for chumps no matter how much I beg him to sleep. This will be the year that I send him off into the big wide world of pre-school. This is the year that ends the baby days.
The little one is my last baby. Yes I know, that’s what everyone says. But I mean it. I don’t want to have another baby. No, I’m not going to try for a girl. I never tried for a girl first, or second time. We tried for a baby. And guess what? We got lucky. Twice. For an infinite list of reasons both the husband and I are supremely grateful for the boys we have, and entirely at peace with our decision that two is enough for us. And whilst I am absolutely certain I do not want to have another baby, my heart still breaks a little today.
It breaks for the things I will never get to do again. I will never feel the tiny kicks of a baby inside my womb. I will never again experience the high of giving birth (after the pain, pushing and panting bit). I will never nurse a tiny infant in the small hours of the morning. I will never experience the pure smiles from strangers when you push a newborn baby in their pram. I will never again wash tiny sleepsuits and bathe tiny toes. No more rattles or bouncy chairs. No more first steps and first tiny shoes for tiny feet. No need to peruse the baby aisle in the supermarket.
I know I am looking back through somewhat rose tinted glasses. I know often the small hours of the morning are hard, and I know the sleepsuits were being washed because of the latest poonami. I know my bits were sore and my boobs were always leaking. I know the baby days had their challenges. But it is just a phase. And it passes so quickly.
I have so much to look forward to. There are days of splashing in puddles, building sandcastles, learning new words and experiencing so many more firsts. And my heart bursts with pride when I see the strong, independent, and ridiculously fast little boy he is becoming. But today marks the beginning of the end of an era. No more baby days. And for that I shed a tear.
For now I will cling onto our special bedtime cuddles. When my arms are full of him, and he rests his head upon my shoulder and gently pats my back as I pat his, and I breathe him in deep and savor this precious precious window of time.
Happy Birthday gorgeous boy.
Bring on the tantrums! I got through the terrible twos once. I can do it again. Right?
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