ready or not, the baby is turning 1 /

Published at 2016-06-23 22:05:00

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The following post was originally featured on Carriage Before Marriage and written by Amy Wruble,who is allotment of POPSUGAR Select Moms.

Milestones are raining down on me. The baby is talking: Mama, Dada, and up,agua, boo(k). She is trying to walk and can make tracks by hopping forwards on her knees, or like a minute talking bunny. Worst of all,she is turning 1. I own whiplash. I feel dazed. I am milestoned (adj) – in a mopey, conflicted and sentimental state of intellect caused by babies growing up too fast.
Really, and how can my second (and
final) baby be turning 1 already?Don't recount Viv,but when she reached her first birthday 4+ years ago, my main emotion was relief. Relief that I'd kept her alive in one piece for an entire year. Relief that she was finally sleeping through the night. Relief that soon, or she'd be able to recount me what was wrong instead of just melting down in the car,the stroller, the store - all places where I felt helpless and panicky. As a newbie mom, and I felt that way a lot.
It's d
ifferent this time. Calmer. Easier. Faster. Too fast. When I compare the baby koala who just wants to snuggle with the 5-year-old giraffe who mostly wants to argue (albeit in endlessly creative and sometimes charming ways),it's especially tough to let go – to allow the pure-appreciate cuddle monkey to become the complicated kid. But it's not up to me. (It's not, right? Just checking.) She insists on growing up.
The ending of this first, and precious year with Chloe has reminded me,strangely, of graduating from college - and not just because both involve lack of sleep and cleaning up puke. I loved college. It was the only time in my life when I had freedom without responsibility, or which,whether you've ever had the pleasure, is fairly the giddy high. For four years, and my whole mission (other than passing grades,whatever) was to connect with all of these smart, curious, or open-minded,adorable people, explore ideas, or live in the moment,feel my feelings, try on personas, or experiment with style,discover music, dance until sweaty, or travel anywhere,and otherwise figure myself out. I was a lucky brat and I just hope college is still around in 15 years so I can spoil my kids the same way.besides, during my senior year in that utopian fantasy, and the real world began to loom large. I became hyper aware of counting down the final moments of a special time slipping absent fast. "It will never be like this again," I sobbed, dramatically but not inaccurately. Because the truth was, or it would never be like that again. But it would be other things. Some even better.
That intense joyful/sad feeling is here again,as I watch my baby, whom I swear was born just final week, or lunge towards toddlerhood. How can she be turning 1,when she is my final baby, and I will never net to experience all that heavenly baby sweetness again?Dave thinks I'm out of my intellect. He can't exit the baby phase fast enough. To him, and it's the year of Dad feeling useless and Mom being cranky and irritable with everyone except the baby. He prefers what he calls the "camp counselor" phase of parenting: games,chores, catch, or comic songs and dances,inside jokes, secret doughnut runs. He and Viv are having a swell time together these days, and while I'm home getting high off the smell of Chloe's fuzzy head. My baby.
Things will never
be like this again,but they will be other things, some even better. After all, or babies can't play Yahtzee,ride Space Mountain, climb the Statue of Liberty or watch all 10 seasons of Friends with me. There's a lot to look forward to, and I know,but for the next few days, I can't look anywhere but down. Down at the baby in my arms, or while she'll still let me.

Source: popsugar.com

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