I don’t want to jinx it, but my daughter is currently that most wonderful, perfect age. Now I’ve only experienced four years of what life with a child is like (with my oldest), but my sixteen-month old is validating what was also true for my first. Somewhere halfway between one and two, the magic happens.
I’m not a baby whisperer. So maybe that’s why the newborn phase with both kids shook me to my core. Yes, I felt that instant connection when I first met our children and yes, I spent many days and late nights in a state of euphoria as I stared at their perfect angelic faces.
But these peaks were punctuated by very deep valleys. The fragility and complete dependence of this new life on you for survival is frightening and heavy. Every labored breath, every unusual cry, every cough and sniffle can send you into a panic. The constant night wakings and thousands of times you warm bottles, change diapers, rock and shush at a moment’s notice train your mind to always be on. Even in moments of peace you find yourself anxious and unable to sleep.
Those early months are a form of torture you’re expected to endure with a smile on your face and love in your heart. And for the most part, you do. You reach the end of the night (or early morning) and with the hours and sometimes minutes of sleep you get, you reset. You’re always rejuvenated by the little face that meets you in the morning.
But truthfully, I hate the newborn phase. And I have never once during either of my children’s first years said “slow down, time!”, because when your babies are colicky and difficult, time is your number one enemy.
And then they turn one.
Contrary to the advice you’re given, nothing special really happens right at one. Day 366 does not start with a restful, undisturbed night, followed by a blissful day of first steps, eating of solids and drinking from cups –no, these are all milestones they reach gradually and certainly not all at the same time, so things are mostly the same when you reach the top of the one-year peak. But you do get to marvel at the view. Things have stabilized and there is a very real feeling of accomplishment when you realize you were pushed to your limits and succeeded at keeping this brand new human alive and healthy for a whole year – something you knew nothing about and felt like you were failing at on a daily basis.
A little after one, things begin connecting for them. They are walking, then running (and falling), and being silly. They start to understand the world around them and they start to appreciate you. They are steadfast in their preferences and truly become little people. You get to retire your role as mind reader and suddenly become a charades expert. And they may finally call you “MAMA”. But they’re still very much babies, and still unbelievably cute, and they won’t start negotiating (demanding) more iPad time or tell you vegetables are gross for another year when they start to talk. And if there’s one difference between your first and second kid, it’s definitely no longer being enamored with early talkers. I’ll take babbling over arguing any day.
My daughter greets me in the morning with the biggest, tightest hug, always while softly patting my shoulder (every hug she gives ends with a *pat pat*). She takes breaks from playing to run over and sit in my lap, just to say hi. She holds my face with her palms to kiss me. She tries to mimic every word I say, but when I ask her to repeat it, will reply with a loud “BLEH” and a proud grin.
She’ll bring her play food over and make chewing motions with her mouth when she’s hungry. She rocks and feeds her dolls, sometimes through their mouths and sometimes hanging upside down through their feet. She has a stuffed duck she adores and lets out a loud squeal and “QUACK QUACK” when they’re reunited at every nap time.
There isn’t a day that passes that my heart doesn’t feel like it’s melting when I’m with her, and I now find myself wishing that time would stand still. But there is so much to look forward to, and I can’t wait to find out what my next “favorite age” will be.
