The biggest parenting cliché in the world is the truest: the days are long but the years are short. Today my baby girl turns two years old. My tiny one, my little bundle of fluff, my hurricane of activity.
Two years of life as a family of four seems to have passed in a blur looking back, although on those days of severe sleep deprivation and not enough hands, it felt like bedtime would never come. Two is a game changer, but I can’t imagine it any other way now.
She arrived like a slippery eel, dropping into the water birth pool just after midnight. It was a surprise how quickly she came. Not even time for gas and air. We were home a couple of hours later, snuggled up in bed with our newborn beside us, in a surreal post-birth glow of adrenaline. Too exhausted to do the school run but too excited to sleep.
The weeks and months passed by in a haze of never-ending photos of tiny nails, sleepy faces and first smiles. She slotted into our lives like she’d always been there, carving out her place in our family with a loud roar of continuous 3am chaos. No sleep, constant smiles, tears, laughter, mayhem.
And now, two.
What you’re like now:
White blonde hair, toothy grins, a mischievous sense of humour. A bundle of energy until you collapse into your cot at night. Still addicted to the boob and with a strong belief in what you want – you demand what’s rightfully yours and often take what’s not. The polar opposite of your sister, it’s a constant source of amazement how two people can produce such different children.
No fear, you throw yourself into the swimming pool, off the climbing frame, into crowded rooms. Nothing fazes you, long may that last.
You don’t sit still for long, but have recently discovered Peppa Pig and will (finally) sit and listen to story books. Your favourite is The Snail and the Whale. You like to point at the monkey and turtle and repeat “monkey” and “turtle” over and over and over again.
Your one true love is basically anything that is your sister’s, particularly her dressing gown. You ask for her “dess gow” and put it on yourself. A fiercely independent creature you hate to accept offers of help.
You can scoot along already on the scooter. You’ll be swimming on your own before you turn three, mark my words. You can throw yourself onto the monkey bars by yourself and hang there for what seems like an eternity. You are SO physical, your strength and determination constantly surprises me.
My bubba. I won’t tell you to slow down. You’re two and love life, why would I want you to slow down? Seeing the little person you’re growing into delights me, as much as I often moan. There’s only so many unwound toilet rolls, emptied bottles of bubble bath and lost keys one woman can take, after all. But life would be quiet and ever so boring without you in it.
We love you Baby Girl. Happy birthday.
Now you are two.
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