Originally posted here
By: Louise S.
Baby George, now you are one.
A whole one year old and one of my two gorgeous babies.
Not a baby, anymore, though, Georgy. You are a toddly, poddly one year old! A big boy. My funny, smiley, squidgy, crazy best friend.
You can be a bit fiery and rough sometimes, but I’ll let you off; today, anyway, seeing as it’s your birthday.
We’ve had a mad old time, haven’t we? Me, you, Livvy and Daddy. Our lovely little family. You have completed us. Now we have everything.
Sometimes you make me laugh until I cry with your singing and ruthless determination. Sometimes, you just make me cry: usually after you’ve been scuttling off everywhere all day, wriggling out of my hands and vandalising the house. And then to top it off you will decide to hit me and pull my hair when I need you to just go to sleep and drink your milk, because I’m tired, too.
But I’ll always forgive you. Because you are my baby.
They said it was going to be insane, having two babies so close together: it was. They said it was going to be different the second time round: it was. They said that the milestones and firsts were going to be overlooked this time because I’d done it all before and life would be too hectic.
That wasn’t true.
Because you are my baby. My second baby, but the only you baby.
I’ve had an Olivia baby before, but not a George baby. You are both my babies. You are my favourite little people. Just because I’ve had one baby, I’ve not had the you baby.
You are my second child, my only boy, my youngest son. But that’s irrelevant, really. Your position in the family, your physical characteristics, your age…none of it matters.
Because you are my baby.
Every moment is as precious as the first time. Because they are your moments. They are different moments. I have seen loads of children walk and talk and do a silly dance. I have seen my other baby do these things, too. But that doesn’t mean that when you do these things, it is any less magical.
I have loved your first word, your first steps, the first time you rolled onto your tummy. I don’t care who’s done it before. It is the first time. It’s your first time.
So when people ask you whether you’re the eldest, or the youngest, or the first born, don’t ever think that the answer has any importance to me.
Because you are my baby. I love you.
Never listen when people tell you they didn’t notice when their second baby first smiled, or laughed, or sang. They don’t mean it really. They’re just saying that two babies makes life a bit busy.
But we can do busy. We can do screaming and crying and tantrums. Because that means we get to laugh and play and dance around the kitchen banging the pots and pans the rest of the time.
The important thing is that we’re happy (a lot more often than not) and here.
And that you are my baby.