Happy 18 Month Birthday!

S and A are officially one and a half years old! I’m having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that in just six months, I will have two two-year-olds.
Watercolor photos done with my new favorite app, Waterlogue.
One of the moms in my Moms of Twins Club emailed this poem entitled “The Last Time” to everyone. While I probably would have slapped her had I read this anytime within the first three months S and A were born (hearing about how you should be enjoying sleep deprivation while sleep deprived is like telling a lion they should enjoy being starved to death), now that I’m out of the fog of those early months, I can appreciate its truth. 
If you are not in the mood for a sappy poem, I don’t recommend reading on. Otherwise, bring on the waterworks!
The Last Time
From the moment you hold your baby in your arms you will never be the same
You might long for the person you were before
When you had freedom and time
And nothing in particular to worry about
You will know tiredness like you never knew it before
And days will run into days that are exactly the same
Full of feedings and burping
DIaper changes and crying
Whining and fighting
Naps or a lack of naps
It might seem like a never-ending cycle

But don’t forget….

There is a last time for everything
There will come a time when you will feed your baby for the very last time
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child
One day you will carry them on your hip, then set them down
And never pick them up that way again
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone
They will hold your hand to cross the road
Then never reach for it again
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles
And it will be the last night you ever wake to this
One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus” and do all the actions
Then never sing them that song again
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate
The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face
They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.
The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
Until there are no more times.
And even then, it will take you a while to realize.

So while you are living in these times, 

Remember there are only so many of them
And when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them
For one last time.

S and A– you are growing up faster than I would like, but I’m enjoying ever last crazy minute of it. Except when you screech. That–not so much. That being said, I hope I have many, many more days left of picking you up when you’re sad, holding both your hands as we walk down the street, cuddling on the couch for storytime,  singing and being silly together, and hearing you say, “Mama!” as you leap into my arms. I melt into a pathetic puddle of gushy tears just thinking about there being a “last time” for any of it.

Happy 18 Month Birthday, Samantha and Amelia!

We love you.
Lots of love, 
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  1. I love that poem! When you were about 4, you went to the Marshburn's house to play but didn't want me to walk you over. I said okay but that I would watch you from the front porch. You ran to the end of the driveway, turned around, gave a big wave and shouted "Bye Mom!", then ran next door. I thought….."that's how it's going to be from now on. A lot of "Bye Mom!" I have to admit that I cried a little.