Lil Sis turns one-year-old in a few weeks time, and I don’t know whether to feel happy or sad. Because just five minutes ago she looked like this:
And now she looks like this:
Watching her grow up feels different from Big Sis. Maybe it’s because we’re not planning any more children (sad face) but the end of each stage feels so final now.
It’s highly unlikely that I’ll ever hold a tiny, squirming newborn of my own again, or feel that heart-leaping thrill of their first smile, that swelling pride when they first roll over, or take their first hesitant crawl.
As each milestone is reached I feel excited, then a stab of sadness – I just want to stop time and preserve her in chubby cheeked infancy forever! My baby is nearly one year old! That’s not even really a baby anymore, is it? Technically she’ll be a toddler – her official baby days are numbered. I’m having palpitations just thinking about it.
OH doesn’t get it – he can’t wait for both girls to get older so he can do more with them. He doesn’t understand the attraction of a tiny baby who just lies in your arms, snuffling and snorting. While I could stare at a sleeping newborn for hours, utterly enraptured, he couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘They’re just a bit boring at this age,’ he shrugs.
Don’t get me wrong – I love seeing Lil Sis learning new skills (the look of joy on her face as she toddles behind her walker – gorgeous!). And after 18 months of pregnancy and caring for a newborn, it’s nice to finally be getting a bit of my own life back.
But for every new stage we celebrate, I still can’t help but miss the one we’ve left behind.