It’s an emotional one for me, this one. Silly as that may seem. She’s two. My big girl is two. Not a baby anymore.
I thought one was a difficult one, but it wasn’t like this. She was still a baby.
The health visitor came on Friday and we talked about school admissions. I struggled to hold it together. I’ve been struggling since.
I didn’t want babies when I got pregnant with Iris. I really really did not want babies any time soon. I’d recently escaped a relationship that had felt much like a prison sentence. I had some freedom for the first time in some while. And then it was gone again. And I mourned it. I mourned for many many months and sometimes I think I’m still not over it.
Like now. I feel like that lately.
I miss my friends, my family, my career and the ability to do whatever the hell I like whenever I like.
I didn’t want babies and I most definitely did not want to move to the valleys.
But that’s what happened and here we all are, and most of the time it’s all rather fabulous.
Most of the time.
And now she’s two.
There’s nobody else like her. She’s the whole world. I love her so much it’s like a physical pain sometimes. I constantly feel terrified that I’ll let her down, and frequently realise that I do. So often. And I hate that.
It’s been a busy weekend of mostly good things, and I know that Iris has had the best time ever. She’d been singing happy birthday to herself for at least a week before anybody sang it to her. We moved it by two days and celebrated early so that she could be with her big sisters and Trevor could be off work. We stayed up late after she’d gone to bed the night before to put together and wrap a big plastic play house that takes up most of the living room. She liked the house, but was more interested in the balloons!
We had a big picnic with lots of her friends and my friends in the afternoon, and the sun forgot to shine and it was chilly. She didn’t care so we didn’t either.
On Sunday we sang happy birthday again with grandma and there were yet more presents.
And today we went on trains and boats and ran around Bute Park, and Iris was so very happy.
In the few short months since Astrid has joined us, Iris has completely transformed. From tiny wobbly toddler with a handful of words, to a full on walking and talking-in-sentences person. With it have come tantrums and huge meltdowns and flailing limbs that regularly smack me in the face, but mostly it’s bought the ability to communicate with us and tell us what she needs. It’s bought more laughter, as she’s learnt to crack jokes and blame her farts on her dad. Her sentence structures are strange and hilarious, and oh so painfully cute. I’ve loved every age so far, but right now I just want to absorb her. To take in every tiny little detail from the dimples in her cheeks to the mispronounciations of her words. The way she kisses me if I seem sad. The way she laughs and when I ask her what’s so funny she says it’s baby Astrid’s face. The way she helps Trevor to wash his hair and beard and shampoos his eyes. Her funny run. How she tells off strangers who cycle without a helmet or wear socks with their sandals. The way she insists on wearing ‘big boy pants’ at home sometimes only to make puddles all over the floor moments later because she’s not really ready. How she pulls out a dining chair to stand on anytime anybody does anything in the kitchen because she wants to help. Her obsession with ball games. How she says ‘stand back from the horsey poo!’ when we’re out walking the dog. How she inspects every stone and flower and leaf, and stops to sit down and look for ants. How she calls me Mummy Mouse.