It’s 11:59pm and I should have been asleep a long time ago. Life at the NPW house has been busier than usual, for reasons I’ll explain in a post soon. Because of this, sleep has been at an absolute minimum. I sat in a chair to do some quick meal planning for the week today, and about a minute into it, slumped over and fell asleep with my head in my hand. I should really be asleep right now.
This is the last minute that Halligan is a baby. It actually took me longer than one minute to write that intro, so that last minute came and went. But I wanted to document this moment a little. I’ve been mourning this passing in her life for a while now; something I did with August and I’m sure I’ll do with any babies I have in the future because I produce enormous children. The looming cloud of toddlerdom has been hanging over our heads for some time, because she has felt much closer to being a toddler than a baby for months.
Just a few weeks ago, she took her first steps. And a couple days later, unsure waddling turned into confident and speedy waddle-running. She’s saying words like Mama and Dada, and making sounds for words like please when she wants me to dish out some shredded cheese. Halligan doesn’t like to hold hands because she likes the independence that comes with getting herself across the room unassisted. She wants what she wants, when she wants it, and does what she can to procure it. Baby? What baby?
Of course, as I have grown to treasure giving her her bottles, she is becoming more and more disinterested in them. This stings, because this is one time that I am guaranteed snuggles and cuddles and slobbery kisses and that I will get to cradle my sleepy baby like a baby. I know that too soon, the only time I’ll really be able to count on having these moments is when she’s up sick all night.
In the morning, I am going to be very tired. I am also going to be the mother of a toddler. A toddler that I hope will continue to freak out when Adam or I enter a room and she suddenly realizes that she can see us and we’re not holding her. A toddler that buries her face in my chest, rubbing her eyes on me when she’s ready for bed. A toddler that lights up any time her brother throws her a crumb of attention. A toddler that has the gift to make any mundane activity seem like the most thrilling adventure by letting out an high-pitched squeal. A toddler that is always going to be my baby, even when she’s an insufferable teenager that makes me want to go back in time and toss my uterus in the garbage.
Today is my baby’s first birthday. I’m going to go cry over a very large piece of cake now.