I’ve only gone and done it again… Turned into a big ball of mush over a momentous moment. See tonight I put the Little C to bed for his final night as a one year old. Tomorrow we are officially in terrible two territory and I can hardly remember him as a baby. As 7pm came and went I could barely bare to start our bedtime routine. If I don’t put him to bed, could I keep him just as he is?
He’s cute, he’s courageous, he’s wise way beyond his years and best of all he’s mine.
Second kids grow up quicker right? I tried to keep him a baby for longer. It didn’t work. I didn’t encourage him to crawl, or climb, or walk. Some how confidence has been on his side and he can hold his own with any of his older crew. His speech has left me quaking as to what’s to come, he was able to tell us this evening ‘Daddy brings sweets and wine!’ Yes son, yes he does!
It hasn’t all been plain sailing. He’s not fond of sleep, but we are getting there. Slowly. He’s been known to help himself to the contents of my bra where ever he likes and he has the finger wag that can only have been inherited from… Well me. There’s no denying some days that finger wags more than it needs to. To go along with it there is a glint in his eye that says ‘I know, you know, I’m up to something, and I’m gonna do it anyways!’
So as I kissed him good night I thought of that glint and it made me smile. I held in my tears and squeezed him a little tighter because tomorrow he will still be my baby just a little bigger.
If he’s the last Little C I want to saviour these moments. Preferably without the Mummy guilt that some days neither of us have been at our best. Even though he throws his dinner on the floor and bosses me around like our roles have been reversed I wouldn’t change him. I’d go through every neo-natal moment, every cracked nipple and sleepless night over again in a heartbeat. Because to me he’s absolute perfection.
Happy Birthday Little C