12 is a big turning point.
12 months is the completing of a year. we don’t usually say “my baby is 12 months”. we say “my baby is 1”.
no matter how much we may not want to say it.
my baby…is one.
can i call her a baby anymore? that’s been the subject of much debate around here.
because if she isn’t my baby…who is?
and no, i don’t think i can live without a baby, thankyouverymuch.
but this one who’s one isn’t the only one.
because this one…
is also twelve. 12. one-two. tuh-welllve. as in—really, REALLY not my baby. as in—her official “last year of childhood”. as in—next up, the teens.
kelle at enjoying the small things just wrote a beautiful, poignant post about the happy-sads. and that’s how i feel—happysad.
i love the person she’s becoming—the woman. it’s amazing to me. before i had children i would look at women interacting with their grown children and wonder…how do they not walk around in a perpetual state of “i can’t believe this person came out of me.”
and sure, now that i have children i realize well, duh, you can’t walk around in that state of amazement and amusement non-stop. but yes, there’s definitely moments when you think i can’t believe this person—this grown up child-adult came out of me.
and i already waxed poetic last week about her growing up and the stages we’re reaching so i won’t go crazy again here. but let me just say—so far, i’m enjoying the ride. and i don’t WANT to hear about “wait for the teen years” or “you’ll see when she turns 13” because i’m not sticking my head in the sand like it’s not gonna happen—but i LOVE this child and i’m excited and happysad to experience growing up with her.
i don’t want to dread the future, i want to embrace it. because all periods of growth are exciting and scary and messy and dangerous—even when you’re an adult.
so there they are. my #1, and my #5. my engine and my caboose. the one that made me a mother, and the one that (hopefully??) closed out my child-bearing years.
yes, there’s much of the happysads around the googiehaus.