Henry is still my baby. Still one. But getting closer to two.
He doesn't act like a baby. He loves to tear around the house after James, loves to sit on him or lay over him, pretending to wrestle, but still wakes in the morning and hugs me tight and gives me dozens of 'mooches. And, oh, those cheeks. They are ever-so-'moochable.
He's my last. At least, that's what we plan. I had always thought I'd have at least three kids, perhaps five. But having him took much longer than we hoped, and I now am at the point when I want to travel and enjoy my kids and have time to myself once in awhile, and this last pregnancy was so much more difficult than my one with James five years earlier. And babies, they are wonderful, but oh so draining. Mothers want to do everything right, and remember everything, and that too is draining.
I see friends who now have kids in high school and I wonder how they will survive once their kids go away to college one day. Do you watch them drive away and see the puffy cheeked two year old? Do you watch your sons standing with their chosen loved one, getting married, and wonder where life went? Do you remember it all?