Tonight Mammy is hormental.
I’m coming to terms with the fact that even though I keep referring to Princess as The Baby, she is in fact, not a baby any more.
Tonight, I put my last one year old to bed for the last time.
In the morning, she shall be two.
A real number.
No longer counted in months… no more 18 months. No more “one and a bit”.
Nope. From tomorrow, she is TWO.
And someone needs to pinch me and explain how the HELL that happened?
In my head, she’s a Baby.
But more and more as I look at her, I’m getting reminded that she is in fact a little girl. She’s a toddler. She’s a kid.
Not a baby any more.
And while her dress for her 2nd birthday party is for aged 3, it doesn’t matter how big she gets, or how tall she gets, or how old she gets. She WILL always be MY Baby.
Maybe I’m emotional because I reckon she’s my last first; my Last first birthday. Last first shoes. Last first tummy bug. Last first tooth. She’ll be our last first day at school. Last first everything.
Does this make me sad? NOPE. But it does make me pay just a little more attention to these little lasts. I find myself memorising things. Watching a little more closely. Hugging a little tighter.
And while tonight should not be sad, because of course every year marks a celebration of life and of health… for some reason, I have a wee lump in my throat. I was teary putting her into her cot. I found myself watching her and savouring her more today. Maybe because of that last first.
How did she get so big? Where have those 2 years gone? If I close my eyes, I can still smell her as a new baby snuggled into me. I can still see her face as it was the second I met her. In my head, she hasn’t changed a bit. In reality, she’s thriving. And I thank my lucky stars.
Tonight, as I tuck them in, I have a five-and-a-half-and-three-quarter year old who will be 17 on her next birthday… and a Baby.
From tomorrow, I’ll have a five-and-a-half-and-three-quarter year old who will be 17 on her next birthday… and a TWOublemaker.
Let the fun begin.