Our lovely Harper turned one year old today. She has completed her first lap, experienced all four seasons, and has made it to her first birthday.
Just a short while ago I was looking forward to having babies, and now two years later I have had my babies. We’re now raising two little girls. The pushchair that we researched and agonised over buying is now too small, the baby clothes hardly worn have been packed away for our future nieces (fingers crossed), and the toy box is ready to be cleared of rattles and teething rings in order to make way for puzzles and books and, oh-god-no, Barbies or Bratz or Dora.
And I know this is the natural order of things, babies learn and grow and every achievement is a step towards independence. It is a wonderous thing to see, and we are cheering them on with all our might, but I can’t help but wonder “who stole my babies?”. (So tempting to make a dingo joke here, Meryl Streep is stuck in my brain). It has been said a few times before but, gosh, children grow up so fast.
Anyway, happy birthday Harper. You are our sun-shiny girl. I hope that one day soon you aren’t so scared of the gigantic stuffed monkey we gave you. Love.