My babies are 11 months old today! We had our usual morning routine of play time, breakfast, walk, playtime, bottle, nap. Then Auntie Diana came over and after lunch we went to the playground to swing in the swings. That wore the girls out just in time for their afternoon nap.
It is an absolutely beautiful, perfect fall day and it’s been wonderful. But I’m looking out the window and feeling so sad. I know Monkey and Turtle will always be “my babies” but really, they’re getting to be more like little girls with every passing hour despite my best efforts to pretend otherwise. I don’t want to wean Monkey from her bottle, and I don’t want to know that Turtle can eat a cracker by herself perfectly fine, thank you very much. Monkey can stand up on her own at will, and will undoubtedly take her first step any day now. Turtle pets our cat gently, just like we’ve taught her, and she’ll take a leaf or piece of paper out of her mouth when I say, “Don’t eat that baby.”
One moment I’m cheering with glee, thrilled to see the pride of accomplishment in their own faces. The next minute I’m sobbing in the corner because my babies are so grown up. I think I understand how they feel when they scurry into my lap after a few minutes of playing alone. We’re going through separation anxiety together, my girls and I, with all three of us longing for a little independence yet anxiously clinging to each other, not ready to be too independent just yet.
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