A few days ago, my second baby turned one.
HOW SWAY?! HOW?
Flooded by the emotions of him getting older and the finiteness of the baby stage, I realized that this year actually crept by as I hoped it would. I mean that in THE best way possible.
I have two kids –– “The Kid,” who is seven, and “Bawse Baby,” the aforementioned baby who just hit his momentous first birthday. With our first child, we had no clue what to expect so we continually looked forward to his next stage. So much so that we sort of rushed through his infancy ruled by development charts and worries that he wouldn’t hit the next stage of physical, emotional, and mental growth –– as described by said chart –– in perfect timing and what missing that mark could possibly mean.
Then, The Kid was six, and we realized that we worried about things that we shouldn’t have. We also realized –– too late –– that the most clingy years had flown by.