Today I had a little toddler running around the house without a nappy on. We have started potty training. I think she is ready, she knows when she is going to go and she is happy to pee on the potty. It’s all good, it’s progress and she is growing up. Getting more independent and so proud of herself.
And I miss her big nappy bum…
We can’t stop them growing up and as much as I love each new stage they are all shadowed with a little nostalgia of things that are gone. The lasts. The last she will wear a nappy. The last time she sat in a highchair. The last time she was carried in a sling. The little moments that have slipped through my fingers while I was busy concentrating on the next ones. They passed in the blink of an eye and sometimes unnoticed. I can’t remember when she was last in her sling, snuggled up next to me against the cold. That moment passed at some stage as my belly grew with her sister, and I never noticed it going. She no longer sits on my lap to fall asleep. She no longer pronounces her f’s as g’s, shouting “this is gun!” from the backseat every time we drive anywhere.
I am so proud of her and the child she is. A happy, chatty, friendly little girl who is loved beyond measure. I will always applaud her achievements and help her to achieve her goals, and I will always remember her kicking my belly, and staring at me with newborn eyes and everything in between.