It feels like we just crossed the finish line at one year, breezed past that midpoint milestone, and are barreling toward two. At least that's how the last few months feel—like a race where the finish line keeps moving further ahead. Now we're standing here, gazing backward at one year, but we're already miles away. The number two is looming large, and I find myself fixating on it. It’s strange how time moves so fast, isn't it? One day you're celebrating a tiny milestone, and before you know it, you're planning the next big thing. It’s like life runs on fast-forward sometimes, especially when you're chasing after toddlers. One minute I'm savoring the last of summer, and the next, I'm already planning holiday menus and decorating my mind with visions of cozy winter evenings.
But this… this feels different. This is uncharted territory. I knew my kids would grow up eventually, and they already have. I get that there will come a time when they'll make their own choices, maybe even ones I don't agree with, and I’ll need to step back and let them. But there’s something bittersweet about watching the months tick by and knowing the days of measuring their growth in months are numbered. When Bray was one, I could proudly say, "He just turned one," and it was true. Now, as we approach his second birthday, I catch myself thinking, "He’s almost two," and it hits me hard. Time doesn't wait for anyone, does it?
Maybe I’m jumping ahead a bit, because this is more like something a mom of a two-year-old would say. Anticipating milestones has always been part of my nature, though. I’m not sure why, but I find myself constantly looking forward, even when I know I should cherish the present. Maybe it’s because I want to soak in every single moment while I still can.
Then there are the nights when both my babies demand attention. First, it's Bray, the clingy little guy who insists on holding my hand, though he probably doesn’t realize he holds my heart in his tiny grasp. I rock him, whisper sweet nothings, and kiss his tiny boo-boos until he drifts off to sleep. Then it’s time for Mia, my older one. She climbs onto my lap, squirming until she’s settled into place. It’s only when I stand to tuck her into bed that I truly notice the change. She used to fit so perfectly in my arms, but now, she’s almost too big for this routine. Still, as I kiss her goodnight, I realize something profound: no matter how old they get, whether they're crawling around in diapers or spreading their wings to fly, they'll always be my babies.
If you'd like to read more about Bray's journey through the first year, you can find those posts here.
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