(This is a short post about my daughter, parenthood and the passing of time. It might be a bit soppy, ok? So, if that’s not your thing, then look away now.)
My little girl turns 2 today, at 0450 this morning to be exact. 24 months since we welcomed her, at home, rather hurriedly, in the middle of the night.
It’s natural to be a little reflective on your child’s birthday, to mull over the memories from that year, to look back over the highs and lows, the firsts, the lasts. But this birthday feels like a real milestone for me. This is the birthday when I can no longer really refer to her age in ‘months’ but instead start using ‘years’. Just last week, she was playing boo with a lady in a shop, the lady asked how old she was. I replied “23-and-a-half months”. The lady smiled at me and gently said “so, she’s 2?”. It seems like switching to years is a very public way of accepting that your baby is actually not a baby at all. And that’s tough for a Mummy. My little girl still needs me for so many things and will continue to do so. But she also wants to do lots by herself. It’s bittersweet and just a tiny glimpse of how much we have to look forward to. To all the times that I’ll see her spread her wings, slowly, gradually, until she’s ready to fly.
So, here’s my acceptance, my baby is a little girl. She’s funny, energetic, cheeky, she never walks when she can run. She’s taught me so much, tested me, pushed me, sent me to the edge and back and made me smile. I am so very proud to have her in my life and to call her my beautiful 2-year-old daughter, Camille.