She awoke shortly after I returned from work, and I just couldn’t help myself. I carried her down the stairs, whispering for her to stay quiet. These moments are few and far between. They are forbidden in a world of multiples and chaos and structure. As I reached the bottom, I glanced over at our reflection in the big old mirror that sits in the hall.
There she was… a two year old whom I thought would be the last to ever exit my body, nurse at my breast, and sit in my lap. A passionate spitfire who fully embraces her position as baby of the family. As she snuggled against my neck, legs spread over my swollen pregnant belly, I breathed her in for just a few extra seconds. She melted me.
This little lady has been refusing her pacifier and user her big brothers’ proper names lately, and we’re all a bit bittersweet about it. We’ve never shared a baby like this before, and nobody’s not quite ready to let her grow yet.