{I concluded that this picture was sufficiently anonymous. And sufficiently perfect!}
little girl,
Last week, we visited your big sister’s Kindergarten class during lunchtime to celebrate her sixth birthday. Our visit conflicted with your nap-time and it was my instinct to leave you home, but she insisted that both of her sisters come and we were quick, and perhaps foolish, in our surrender. Toting a bag of purple cupcakes, we arrived and waited a few minutes for your sister and her class to return from the gym. The teacher asked how old you are now. And I answered.
Almost two, I said. March.
Soon, your sister and her class arrived and we sucked her into a giddy, family hug and, as if on cue, the chaos ensued, in predictably exhausting fashion. Swimming in sea of big kids, your eyes lit up and you did your giggly whirling dervish thing, racing around, rolling on the rainbow carpet, winning admirers, breaking all of the Kindergarten rules. You pulled pillows from the book nook, demanded seconds of cranberry juice, touched everyone’s forks, took a big, messy bite of cupcake before your big sister had a chance to. Throughout, the teacher kept reminding your sister’s classmates that we expect different things from two-year-olds than five- and six-year-olds.
And I felt something rising in me, a swell of panic maybe. What I wanted to say, what I didn’t say because I was too busy wrangling all 27-ish? pounds of you: She is still one! She is still one! Suddenly and surprisingly, I felt fiercely possessive of this final month-plus of your Oneness. She is still one!
And you are. One.
I imagine a scenario. You are newly eighteen and we sit at our kitchen island, that vast white page of glass, once smooth and pristine but now pockmarked from real life and real use, and it is the eve of your high school graduation. Your big sisters are out and about in this fine city we call home; moments ago, they left in a tempest of hugs and promises to be home by a certain time. It’s just you and me and we are talking. And I am looking at you, stunned by the impossibility of time, by your blue eyes and grace, by nostalgia. And it’s as if you know that I am a bit melancholic about the milestone we face and you ask me something, Hey, Mom, what was I like when I was one?
And I look at you, thankful for your question, the chance to remember. And, in an utterly rambling fashion you have grown to accept and maybe even love, I will say things:
You started taking steps, then walking. Soon, you were running and jumping and diving from the counter to the couch. Fearless! You continued honing new and exciting skills: clapping, waving, laughing, taking off your own clothes. Slowly but surely, you began saying words, then sentences. You loved Yo Gabba Gabba and insisted on watching it on Daddy’s “iPah.” You were suddenly, crisply aware of your sisters and the world around you. You developed a sense of humor (see above) and a sense of rhythm, too, participating in naked dance parties with your sisters in the evenings that struck you as hilarious. You started talking about the potty, but remained loyal to your Elmo diapers and to your pacifier too and we didn’t rush you. You put on little shows for us, contorting your sweet face into goofy and incomparable grins, twirling your small body around and around.
I go on and on and you listen. I can see it in your eyes that you are perplexed and intrigued and just a little bit bored. But you listen as I go back.
My Girl: on March 6th, the unthinkable will happen. You will turn two. And we will probably celebrate with another silly party I vowed not to plan and not to pay for and there will be the standard-issue ribbon-cake-plastic toy hoopla. But first. But first I will do my best to revel in these final weeks in the Land of One. And in these final weeks, if anyone asks how old you are, I will say something a bit different than what I said to your big sister’s teacher.
She is one, I will say. For a bit longer, at least.
It is my plan to enjoy and process this final bit of time here. Writing these words, these imperfect but felt words, has proven a very good start.
I love you to tiny pieces, my silly little thing.
love, mommy
♥
Confession: When asked to try to capture Age One in a single blog post for the wonderful This Is Childhood blog series of which this is the first installment, my excitement quickly morphed to anxiety. And I did what many panicky creatures do in this glorious modern age: I Googled. I Googled “one-year-olds” and I read and I smiled because the things I read – shiny, packaged bits about milestones and development – rang true for me. But then I chided myself for not trusting myself, and implicitly, to tell a true something about the Land of One, a familiar and ever-foreign land, a land I will finally leave, yes, in less than two months (cue the sobs). It goes without saying that the above letter does not capture in any exhaustive fashion what the time between 12-24 months looks like, but that’s inevitable, no? It is what it is and no more: A little letter to my littlest girl. I hope she reads it some day.
Pingback: This Is Childhood: ONE « universalgrit
Beautiful!! Such precious – and exhausting – days. One is amazing and your little one is delicious!
Thanks, Pamela! Yes, precious. Yes, exhausting. I just know that one day I will look back on these precious and exhausting days and miss them. And my tiniest is a wonderful and tricky little creature. She is really different than her sisters were, and are, her own person for sure. Thank goodness for coffee!
Love these words, love that picture, love YOU. So glad you are our inaugural voice!!! xoxoxo
Thanks, you. You know that I was (and am) a bit anxious to be the “inaugural voice” as you call it, but I am also so honored and excited about this. I was thinking about it this morning and I realized that I never set out to write about parenthood. No. I set out to write about my life, about truths and questions I stumbled upon in my days, and it turned out that parenthood was, and is, such a huge and defining part of my life, the lens through which I view life, that it became one of my most cherished topics. I am pretty sure you can relate to this? In any event, I am thankful that you and Allison cooked up this wonderful series and thrilled to have a chance to participate.
xo
What a wonderful idea for a series and what a perfect start! I love your desire to defend your daughter’s one-ness. My oldest, 9 and a half, has noticed that we tend to use ages to our benefit. “You are only nine- there is no way you are getting a cell phone.” and then in almost the same breath, “You are almost ten- you need to remember to hang up your own coat.” What a good reminder to let our little one be exactly the age they are, right now.
Thanks, Stacey! I think we all do this – reaching for the “onlys” and “almosts” and it really struck me last week in that wonderful classroom that we should try to savor the present moment and not rush to the next one. Easier said than done, I know.
One. It’s been five years since I’ve had a one-year-old and your picture, and words, took me back. Thank you for your wonderful words and I hope in many years forward, you’ll write about her reaction to this beautiful letter. xoxo
Thanks, Denise. One of the many reasons I continue to blog is the thought that my girls will read my words one day and that these words will be windows into who they were when they were young, who I was when I was raising them. I think this is one of the most amazing things about doing what it is we do, don’t you? Of course it is also a little scary too, that we are choosing to memorialize so much of our messy lives and messy selves? Thrilled to be doing it all alongside you
Cue the tears… she is so sweet! It really is so important to keep a hold onto each year of their childhood, and not push them off into the next too soon
Thanks, Corinne. Yes, we must not rush it. Which is really hard not to do because these days can feel tricky and tedious at times and I think it is human nature to seek that light at the end of the tunnel. My husband and I dream about a day when the girls are bigger, when they are all good sleepers and travelers and we can take vacations again. And this obviously sounds lovely, but I am trying not to focus too much on the future, on life after babies. Doing my best to embrace the chaos that is my now. Again, this continues to be a challenge but a worthy challenge, I think.
Oh I am right there with you. My littlest (and last) will turn two on March 1st, and it is just impossible for me to believe that this has happened so quickly!
Fun that our little (and last) girls are almost exactly the same age! I think there is something particularly magical about 12-24 months. I am not sure there is another year where more change happens. Think about all the things that happen – the words and the steps and all of it. Bittersweet indeed, this moving on to Two. Thanks, Jacqueline!
It’s hard to imagine that my own one-year-old will be turning two in a few months too. I’m holding on to her oneness with the fiercest grip I can muster. She’s my baby, my last baby, and oh boy is she an amazing, wonderful, funny, incredible one. And how could I let go of that?
It is so hard to let go, isn’t it. This motherhood thing is one continued exercise in hanging on… and, simultaneously, letting go. There is something especially hard, and illuminating too, about witnessing these milestones with our lasts. The thought that I will be leaving this land of one for good is unbelievable and a bit sad. I am surprising myself by being genuinely okay with moving beyond my childbearing years, but still, it’s hard. Hard and good. Both. Always both. Thanks, Justine
Loved this! It’s such a huge accomplishment as a mother to get through the first year but then after that it’s a little bittersweet. I say this and my oldest is only 3.
Amazing picture. Just amazing.
Thanks, B! Bittersweet is the perfect word. And I’m glad you liked the picture. At first, I hesitated because I typically don’t post head-on photos of my girls but then I discussed it with Husband and we concluded that this picture is pretty anonymous, no different than photo-shopping glasses and a mustache on… And I do think it perfectly captures my sweet and sassy little creature.
This is just beautiful, Aidan. My fourth child is 14 months so one is VERY fresh! With each child getting to age one is something of a graduation . . . in many cases it’s the end of the middle of the night feedings. The beginning of walking and saying words. Such a magical year from one to two. You captured it perfectly and your daughter will treasure the letter one day.
Thank you, Nina. So happy to be participating with you in this 10-week ode to childhood. And this is a magical year. I just realized something as I was reading these wonderful comments. I realized that this is the first time I am going through the entirety of this year without also being pregnant or having a newborn. There is something really nice about this, to be able to focus on what is here, and exclusively, rather than what’s to come, what has just come. An interesting thought.
I know it’s cliched to say this, but enjoy that little 14 month old. Soon, you too will be staring down Two. Alas, time.
Pingback: This is Childhood | Nina Badzin
Sometimes I miss one, a lot. I loved the time between one and two with all it’s craziness, newness and learning. This is such a beautiful glimpse into that year.
Thanks so much, Susi. When I sat down to write this, I felt really overwhelmed. I felt compelled to perfectly capture this year and what it looks like and then I realized this would be impossible, that all I could do was write words, offer a glimpse. Exactly the word you use which makes me smile. I love that word.
I love this. It brought me back to those years when my children were one. I’d forgotten all the magic and changes that happen during that time. Thanks for a loving trip down memory lane.
Thank you, Brenda! I hope never to forget this (maddening) magic, but I know how life works and the details will soften with time. I am happy to have these words and also the words of so many other moms to help me remember when the time comes. I also love the concept that my moments are others’ memories and vice versa, that we can live and re-live these important and defining days of parenthood and life.
Beautiful, as usual, and so excited for this series!
Have you heard the Alabama song “You’ll Never Be One Again”? I didn’t know it until I met my husband but it’s so sweet – it’ll bring on the tears for sure. My sister-in-law danced to it with her dad (my father-in-law) at her wedding…shifting the meaning perfectly from “you’ll never be one (year old)” to “you’ll never ben one (as in, alone, bc you’re getting married)” – aaaaand, tears were shed.
Thank you, Sarah. I don’t know this song but I am off to find it after writing these words! I think what strikes me most about all of this is that the most beautiful things are often really complicated and bittersweet. There have been so many times recently when I have stood in my kitchen and looked over at my kids in the family room, playing, conspiring to create an enormous mess and I feel both incredible love and frustration. In the same moment, I long for calm and order and also never want the precious and fleeting chaos to abate. Does that make any sense?
Will let you know what I think about the song
Oh, this is delicious. I think you know how well and how deeply I can relate to your words here about your tiny girl, your last baby, your youngest of three. So delighted to be on this journey with you and in awe of your first post in this new series of ours. xo
Thanks, you. I know you can relate. How are these tiny little girls of ours getting so big so fast? It’s both mind-bending and completely wonderful. I am so excited to be doing this series with you and all of the other participants. What a privilege, no? xoxo
PS – I still need to hear about this no-caffeine thing. Totally intrigued!
I hope this is encouraging to you – perspective from an old girl!
http://www.bloggymoms.com/profiles/blogs/rock-a-bye-baby?commentId=4608538%3AComment%3A715873&xg_source=msg_com_blogpost
Just clicked over and read and oh how I love this. That a piece of furniture can hold so much meaning and memory. And I agree with you, and profoundly, that it is very often the smallest, most seemingly mundane moments, that have the greatest significance. Thanks so much for this, Janet!
Pingback: This is One
What a wonderful post! We just crossed over…our youngest turned two the other day. I really had to psyche myself up for the transition. It seemed almost more surreal than when he turned one. You captured one beautifully!
If I feel this way a month-plus away from Two, I can only imagine what Two will feel like. I think surreal will probably be the right word. We will see. So appreciate your words today, Carin. Thank you!
Our littlest one, Evangeline, is one “for a bit longer” as well. She also turns two in March. Your story was beautiful! I loved stopping by to read it.
Another March girl. Love it. Hope you also enjoy these final weeks of One. Thanks, Olivia!
This is so perfect, Aidan. So perfect. I loved one so much. xo
Thank you, Tracy. I love One too. Happy to have this chance to sit back and realize that. Excited to be doing this series with you and the others!
May I use that line, too? “He is one. For a bit longer, at least.” Talk about tears! I have loved watching and learning more about this stage. When M was born, R was not quite 18 months old, so I feel like my first experience with 1 – 1 1/2 was a bit of a blur! Now I’m (yes, exhausted) but also having so much fun with M and his silly ways and fearless and outgoing personality. (VERY different from big brother!) And I say, “He’ll be 2 in April” too. No longer! He’s one. Thanks for this, Aidan.
Of course you can use it! It is amazing how much of this time can be blurry and blend together, but then there are moments and days that are crystalline and discrete and we just want to hang on and press pause. I am feeling this a bit now. I am excited to get my life back a bit, and also my writing mojo, but these baby years are precious and I want to feel, and remember, as much as I can. Again, I am reminded that this blog is not just a blog, but a baby book, something to look back upon. So happy to see you here. Hi to the boys!! xox
My baby girl turned two yesterday! I had the same thought the last few weeks. I wanted to tell everyone that she was still one – that in some way I still had my baby. I took her out this morning and put on her Patagonia pilot cap – the one that still makes her look like a baby. It made me smile. I wonder if there is another year where we change as much as from one to two? This time last year, my baby girl was drinking from a bottle, not walking and had only a few words. When I contrast that to her now, it is almost takes my breath away. Enjoy your last few months.
Thanks, Maureen. And happy belated birthday to your girl! I so love those moments when our kids look like babies again. I have those moments in the car when she’s asleep in her car seat sucking on her pacifier. She looks just like a sweaty, chubby-cheeked babe and I love it. Of course I want her to get bigger, to lose the paci, etc, but there is something magical about these still-a-baby-moments.
Oh I just love it! I think you captured her pretty well and I was smiling as you were listing all the things about ONE. It will be so fun to tell her about it and have her read this someday.
And that pic is priceless! Enjoy these last weeks of one….
Thanks, Elaine. I do look forward to the days when I can sit with my girls and look back. I don’t want to rush there, but there will be something wonderful about that. And, yes, the picture makes me smile. It was taken after her big sisters got her all dolled up, twisting her baby hair into bows and elastics, placing the shades over her eyes, the mustache-paci in her little lips. And I love that she is in PJs. We Rowleys love spending time in our PJs. Fun how a single picture can capture so much.
My little boy is seven months (for a little bit longer!) and I’m already heartsick for his newborn snuggles and his new baby smell and his little, little clothes. But this age – this seven months age – is still so, so magical.
Sending good wishes to you as you enjoy your last few months with a one-year-old!
Thanks, Sara. The hardest part for me about those first months was how quickly my girls outgrew their clothes. I have so many memories of sitting on the nursery floor, folding tiny shirts and sleepers, piling them up, putting them away. And now? Now I am putting them away for babies that won’t be mine – nieces, friends’ kids, etc. Hard to believe and accept sometimes. Enjoy your little guy!
This gave me chills. I have a 2-month-old niece (my first) and she lives 2 and a half hours away. My goal is to visit her every month, but even then I know she’s growing so fast, day to day, week to week, and I wish I could be there to witness and celebrate it all.
What a beautiful letter…I hope your little girl does read it one day! I love everything about this series, and looking forward to reading the rest. (I found out about you through Nina Badzin’s blog).
Thanks so much, Natalia. I think that this is what the series is all about: time. Time travels so fast and all we can do is try to soak up the moments we have and notice things, little and big, in our days. The hard thing and real thing is that even when we are here, right here, with our kids, we cannot witness it all. I think that I blog in an effort to witness more, and appreciate more, but still. There are moments where I am distracted and wish I could focus better and see more.
I loved writing this letter. And I love the idea that she (and I) will have it in the days and years to come.
So happy you clicked over here from Nina’s wonderful blog. She’s fantastic, huh?
Pingback: This Is Childhood: One | I Love Them the Most When They're Sleeping
I think I will be changing my outlook, too. It’s too easy to “round up” — “almost” 2 and a half, “almost” 15. I’ll let them add the “and-three-quarters” to seem older, but try to remember that it is ONLY “and-three-quarters”, not “almost a year older.” They’ll be there soon enough.
Yes, soon enough. Time whips by so quickly and we need to do what we can not to rush things. So much easier said than done, but we can try! It’s interesting because when I sat down to write this, I had no message in mind, no takeaway. I just had stories and bits about my babe to share. The cool thing is that there was a message stitched in there, a message for all of us: Don’t rush it. I hope very much to adopt this outlook, too. Thanks, Meg!
Aidan, I’m guilty of jumping ahead with my kids’ ages too! I’ve finally caught myself with my youngest. I keep telling people, “he was just four”. Just=August. At this rate, I’ll be saying it until July.
Beautifully done. Thank you for kicking the series off so brilliantly!
Thank you, Bethany. You have me wondering whether it takes us realizing it is our final kid to slow down a bit? Knowing that I will not have another one-year-old makes me extra possessive of these final weeks. I wonder if this will continue, this exaggerated holding on because she is my baby? I wonder if it will affect her, this intensified focus on her and her evolution because she is my last? I tell myself that it is only a good thing and I kind of believe it. Interesting to think about, huh?
So thrilled to be participating with you in this fantastic This Is Childhood series. Look forward to your post!!
My oldest daughter is at the stage where–now 5 months prior to her high school graduation–we sit at the kitchen island and talk about her childhood. Did I do enough? Was I a good enough mom for you? This essay brought tears to my eyes. What I wouldn’t do to turn back time, if only for a moment.
I look forward to the rest of the series.
Oh, I am so happy to get this comment from you, Anne. Because as much as I can picture those moments so many years from now, I also can’t. But I know they will come. And I know that I will have questions, questions I voice and those that I don’t. Did I do enough? Was I present enough? What could I have done differently? I think the possibility, the inevitability, of these questions makes the stakes so high right now. Does that make any sense? I guess the point is that I am trying so hard and so many of us are. To do the best we can, to muddle through, to raise good and happy people. It’s a really nice image to picture you with your daughter at your own kitchen island. So, thank you.
What a great start to the series! The way you wrote this is so touching: the fast forward 17 years in the future conversation. You will truly share wonderful memories with her. Thank you for telling your story of One.
Thanks, Elizabeth. I do like to zoom forward from time to time and try to picture what it will be like. Of course I can’t predict – none of us can – but it exciting to try.
I love this and it rings so true. My youngest daughter just turned two on Jan 2nd and right up until that day I insisted she was “still” one. I wanted to hold on to her “babyness” as long as possible even though she’d been shedding that babyness in the months leading to two. Enjoy the last moments of one because even as exhausting as the under-two set can be it’s filled with delicious baby moments that are irreplaceable.
Yes, these moments are irreplaceable. So true and so hard to remember sometimes as we are racing around, juggling, doing the mommy dance. It’s interesting to me that we can simultaneously feel seemingly conflicting emotions – nostalgia and joy, celebration and sadness. Again and again, I am realizing that “Both” is a really a theme, a truth, of motherhood. Thanks, Jess!
I really enjoyed reading this. Took me back, way back to that precious yet exhausting time.
Thanks so much, Anna!
There are blog posts I read and others that I feel, thank you for the exhilarating ride to , “…for a bit longer, at least.”
Thanks, Amanda. A tremendous compliment as I strive to make this place about a bit more than words. It feels good to feel, doesn’t it? So thrilled to be participating with you in this wonderful This Is Childhood series!
My son just turned 2 and I held on to calling him one up until his birthday. The year between one and two is such a wonderful time full of so much that it’s hard to compress it into one blog post.
It is hard to compress it into one post. I actually rarely feel “blocked” or anxiety about writing, but I felt these things when sitting down to write this. Because, really, how to capture this incomparable year of life? Impossible, I realized. And so I just wrote. And I’m so happy I did. Thanks, Julia!
This is so true. Beautifully written. As I read this I started to cry realizing that when my son, the last of my 3 children, turns 2 in June that it will be the first time in 6 years that I haven’t had a baby. I am going to miss 0-1 very much!
Thanks, Briannon. It is indeed bittersweet to enter the years beyond baby. That’s what I’m facing too and there are parts about it that are downright exciting, but it is hard too. To move on, to leave these messy but wonderful years behind. So good to know that I am not alone in feeling all of this.
This is a wonderful post and the simplicity yet importance of the age of one was captured perfectly I think. I have to say I love and admire the way you incorporate both motherhood, your personal struggles and your children all throughout this blog. The memory this blog holds as how you have, and will continue to evolve will be such a treasured memory for all of you to look back on one day each in your own way. I also love it because it isn’t a typical “mom blog” which I see a lot full of a recording of stats about their growing child or basic activities but you compile it in a way that shows them growing as people and the stories of them growing up. When I have kids those are the memories I will want and I appreciate you being a model of that here. Basically another reason I’ll always be a loyal ADR Reader!
Wow. Thanks so much, AG. It’s funny because when I started this blog, I didn’t really think much (or at all) about what kind of blog it would be. It didn’t seem to matter. I wanted it to be a blog about my life and my life includes motherhood and other things. I do love the idea that I am creating a repository of memories big and small here, that I will be able to come back here to relive and remember. I so appreciate your words today and always!
I am with you here. My son, my baby, will be two on January 29. Today in art class when someone assumed he was two, I screamed ONE! Great post.
Thanks, Christie. Glad to know I am not alone in my possessiveness of one. They are one until they are two. That’s my new motto, I suppose
This is so beautiful. Can’t wait to read the other posts in the series. What a fantastic idea!
Thanks, JHL!
Here I am Aidan … the grandmother of three, the mother of two … gone are the onesies and twosies … gone forever are the pre-tween histerics, the clamoring of giggles of sleepovers involving lots of noise and food and questions … gone the first hands-on-hips challenge of the all too grown college girl. When I saw her back moving out and I knew for sure … she …unlike her older brother … would not return with dirty laundry or ask for help with rent … she was my firely Lion baby and she would make it out there in the world I wanted to shielf her from … but could no longer.
Here I am … an old gal with tons of photographs … of her chubby belly protruding and the first tutu of her first ballet recital and the one where she put her brother’s underpants on her head like a hat and posed like yours did up there. That face … frozen for all time for me to remember the fleeting years. I might have gotten a tear in my eye, but the next time we talk on the phone and she expounds over her brother or her husband and the ills of the world … I’ll think of your letter and I’ll remember that magic moment when she was all mine for the first year … and I’ll laugh … because that little monkey grew up to be my best friend
Florence, thank you. I cannot tell you how much I love this comment, the breathlessness and detail of it. And I adore how you end it… “because that little monkey grew up to be my best friend” Oh how it brings me joy to look at the silly picture of my girl above and imagine her bigger, and as one of my three best buds. That’s my biggest hope of all. Thank you for the wise words and big smile.
I always love your words, but this one struck me. It called out what I tend to do, to “round up.” With my words, and perhaps, more importantly, my focus. So often I am already onto the next level, the next milestone, of she will be doing…rather than be with her. Right. Now. As she is, in this moment. Perfect kickoff for “This is Childhood.” Love. Love it. Thank you for this.
Thanks, you. It’s interesting because I just wrote this and then in my words I found this little lesson, this lesson that seems to be resonating, that we shouldn’t rush things. I am guilty of this. I am always looking ahead, pondering the next thing, the impending milestone. But I think it is important to try to stay here, in the moment, the heralded Now, to really feel it before it flees. xox
Pingback: One | The Wink
Oh Aidan, this is breath taking.
One feels so far from where I am now, but you brought me right.there.
Lovely post and ode to your ‘lil love.
Thanks, Galit. Means so much. So thrilled to be participating in this wonderful series with you. And should know that I adore the word “ode.”
xo
You and me both, sister.
{On both counts. #AnOdeToUs}
I am new to your blog (a recommendation from a high school friend, thanks to the wonders of FB, Jessica Siegel) and enjoyed this! Something that struck me while reading was that I have never, in the course of four children, referred to any of them as ‘one’, unless they were literally 12 months old. This is still a time for me that is measured in months. Using the same word to describe a 14 month old and a 22 month old feels incongruous somehow. My last babies are fast and furiously approaching their second birthday (on march 1, hooray for march birthdays!) and while I am excited for the milestone (they are twins, after all), one of the unique sadnesses will come from the fact that I will start counting their life in years now. With babies it is weeks, with toddlers it is months, and after that it is the long march of years. For this reason, we are avid celebrators of half-birthdays in my house! I often wonder, and have watched with eagle eyes knowing this was my last chance, whether the bigger change is between 0-12 months or 12-24 months. I think, technically speaking, it has to be the former. But in terms of what matters to a mother, you can’t beat the profundity of difference between one and two. It is the span of time when our babies show themselves to be the little people they actually are and nothing is more exciting than that. Will look forward to visiting your site again.
Lauren, so happy you made your way here! (Thanks to the lovely Jessica!) I love what you have to say here and am taken by the phrase “the long march of years.” I’ve never really thought about what you say, namely that with infants we talk in weeks, with toddlers in months… Really interesting to think about. What amazes me is that I am both genuinely excited to be on this march with my girls and yet also wistful, profoundly wistful, for the early days and years. Go figure. Perhaps a universal aspect of parenthood? Hope you become a regular here!!
Such an affecting piece of writing. It makes me uncomfortable with grief for my one-year-olds who are now 12 and 14. The discomfort coming from not knowing how to honor the bittersweet feelings that come from a combination of happiness for their successful growth and sadness for no longer having “babies” in the house. This series seems to be a way to deal with such feelings and I’m glad to have stumbled upon it via Galit. Gratitude fills my heart.
So lovely and oh my how I relate to the mixed emotions of watching our children as babies step out into new situations. This is glorious. Love your blog too!
I meant to comment on this yesterday. This glimpse of what 1 means to you is something I know your daughter will cherish one day in the future. While developmental milestones are important, there is something about feeling the age that is so hard yet so important.
Oh! This is beautiful! And a priceless gift when she is old enough to read it. I wish I’d written more about my boys when they were tiny. Even with photos, memories fade; but your words bring every laugh and twirl to life.
I too, don’t like to round ages up (especially one!). My daughter’s birthday is Monday, but I won’t say the number that comes after eight until I have to.
So true, glad I visited here from Tracy’s blog. My little girl is also turning 1 on 6 March, yay
So on a day when my 5 year old son was off from school, hubby left for work early in the morning and my little 21 month old was rearing to go…I took a moment to read your blog. I posted on Facebook at around 8:30a.m. how exhausted I already was and our day didn’t even begin. When a minute later a friend tagged me and posted your blog to my homepage and said for me to read it.
I don’t think I finished the first paragraph and I had tears streaming down my cheeks. Thank you for putting things into perspective for me and helping me turn my day around. My children and I had a wonderful, playful and stress free day. I enjoyed every moment spent with them today and will continue to think about the article when I need a little inspiration. Beautiful article!
Gorgeous! Sigh. I feel that way about my youngest – 4 years old. I wanted him to stay 3. I don’t mind if he has his tétine (pacifier). I’m not ready! I also used to freak out when I looked into the eyes of my newborn daughter – my first born. My father-in-law told me that our eyes never grow in size – they just shift outwards as the face grows. I imagined looking into the same eyes when my daughter was a grown-up – the same exact eyes, same size and everything!
Visiting from Sellabit Mum – hi! (waving)
My babes are 16 and 19. Far from one. But, just as you dreamed, they do ask about themselves at one from time to time. I don’t even think they’re bored with the answers. It’s wonderful to remember. One is SO MUCH more full than one year. It needs to last a lifetime.
What a beautiful, beautiful post, Aidan. I am a mother of a ten-month-old, and this just brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing.
Pingback: This is Two
Pingback: This is Childhood: TWO : These Little Waves
I’m here via motherese and just wanted to thank you for this beautiful post. My own little guy is three, and already reading what you write about one (even one-which-is-close-to-two) fills me with surprising nostalgia.
Pingback: This is Three | Nina Badzin
Pingback: This Is Childhood: THREE « universalgrit
Pingback: This is Childhood: THREE : These Little Waves
When I first read this post, I recalled a poem I’d read about a one-year-old by Wislawa Szymborska, “A Little Girl Tugs at the Tablecloth”.
Both the post and the poem evoked some wonderful memories for me.
Pingback: This is Childhood: FOUR : These Little Waves
Pingback: This Is Childhood: Four « universalgrit
Pingback: This is Childhood: FIVE : These Little Waves
Pingback: This is Five
Pingback: This Is Childhood: SIX « universalgrit
Pingback: This is Childhood: SIX : These Little Waves
Pingback: This is Six
Pingback: Tooth Fairy and More: This is Six | Nina Badzin
Pingback: This is Childhood: SEVEN : These Little Waves
Pingback: This Is Seven
Pingback: This is Childhood: EIGHT : These Little Waves
Pingback: This Is Childhood: EIGHT | universalgrit
Pingback: This Is Eight
Pingback: This Is Childhood: NINE | universalgrit
Pingback: This Is Nine
Pingback: This is Childhood: NINE : These Little Waves
Pingback: This is Childhood: TEN : These Little Waves
Pingback: This Is Ten
Pingback: This is Childhood: TEN
Pingback: This Is Childhood: TEN | universalgrit
Pingback: Mom, Are You in There? | I Love Them the Most When They're Sleeping