Turning 2

Posted: May 26, 2026 16:44:06

She’s almost two. I keep catching myself looking at her and wondering how the same little girl who once fit against my chest now runs ahead of me with opinions, jokes, favourite songs, and tiny little phrases that somehow became part of our family language overnight. Two feels different. One still felt like I had a baby. A tiny one. A new one. A year of survival and firsts and learning each other. But two feels like standing at the edge of childhood. Like somehow, without asking permission, time quietly moved us forward while I was busy cutting grapes and folding tiny socks. I don’t think anyone prepares you for how emotional it is to watch your firstborn grow up. Because with your first child, every version of them is also a version of you being born too. The first time someone calls you “Mom.” The first fever. The first laugh that makes your heart ache. The first bedtime where you realize they suddenly don’t look like a baby anymore. And now here we are, almost two years later. I still remember those newborn nights so vividly. The exhaustion. The overwhelming love. The fear of doing everything wrong. I remember staring at her while she slept thinking, “Please stay little just a bit longer.” And she didn’t. Not because she was supposed to. Not because time slowed down out of kindness. But because growing is what children do, even while mothers are still trying to memorize them. Lately I’ve noticed the baby things disappearing quietly, one by one. The way she used to mispronounce certain words. The way she fit perfectly on my hip. The sleepy cuddles after naps. The chubby toddler hands reaching for mine. Everything changes so slowly that you barely notice it happening until suddenly you’re grieving a version of your child that existed only months ago. But alongside the grief is something else too. Pride. Because watching her become herself is one of the greatest privileges of my life. She is funny and stubborn and curious and full of light. She dances in grocery store aisles. She asks questions all day long. She loves with her whole heart. And somehow, every single day, she becomes more “her.” I think that’s the hardest and most beautiful part of motherhood, constantly letting go while loving even deeper. I wish I could freeze time sometimes. Bottle up the sound of her laugh. Save the feeling of her falling asleep on me. Keep this version of her forever. But if I’m honest, I know I’ll probably feel this way at every age. Every stage feels like the one you’ll miss the most. So as her second birthday gets closer, I’m trying to hold both things at once: the ache of knowing my baby is growing up, and the gratitude that I get to watch it happen. And maybe that’s motherhood. Missing them while they’re still right in front of you.