In just a few days, my youngest child will turn 3.
It’s a hard birthday for me to handle. He is my second and last baby, and in my mind, he is still just that – a baby. But in reality, he is a full-fledged toddler, throwing tantrums and demanding he does everything all by himself.
But he is and always will be my baby.
We have been through so many milestones lately. In April, we transitioned him from a crib to a toddler bed after his big sis kindly showed him how to climb out of his crib. In July, we finally said goodbye to diapers after six long years between two kids. We now have a potty-trained kid who is about to start his first year of preschool.
But despite all these milestones, he is still my baby.
Over the last few months, his speech has grown by leaps and bounds. We went from worrying that he might have speech problems to him speaking in full sentences (sometimes not clearly, but usually we can understand him just fine). He joins in conversations, asks for things he wants (usually by saying “I WANT [THING] RIGHT NOW!”), and even tells us jokes (though they really aren’t funny yet).
Yet, he is still my baby.
He favors his dad over me and will get upset if it’s my turn to put him to bed. Though it does hurt my feelings sometimes, I try not to take it personally because I know he loves us both and he will go through these phases. Once he gets over the initial upset, he happily lets me read to him and snuggles up close with his paci and his baby doll.
He is a big boy, but he is still my baby.
It’s hard to believe how quickly they grow up. Before I know it, he will be starting school and bringing home friends to play. In the blink of an eye, he will be going places on his own and even driving a car. And then, in what seems like such a short time, he will be off on his own, ready to start his life as a grown-up.
But even then, he will still be my baby. My only boy, my second child, half of my heart.
