The last night of the terrible two's...

Tomorrow my baby will be three. (Although we have had an all day long argument discussion about why you can't just go from two to five, no matter how badly you might want to...) I am feeling, once again, the bittersweet realization that comes from watching your youngest child hit milestones and knowing that it's the last time for you as well. Tonight is the last time I will have a two year old and I am both sad and deliriously happy at the same time. I'm also more than a little bit terrified of what three will bring with this child, but that is an entirely different post.

So tonight when I tucked her into bed, I picked a extra long story and lay down next to her. I didn't get mad when she kept wiggling around and tried to play with my hair or the strings of my sweatshirt, I just snuggled her back down and kept reading. She fell asleep on my shoulder, and I just kept reading until the story was finished, enjoying the warm, still weight of her snuggled into my side and the soft little snores she makes in my ear. When I came to the end I closed the book, kissed her cheek, and wiped away a tear knowing that was the last time I will read a bed-time story to my two year old.

As I sat down to post I read back over what I had written when she was born and for each of her birthdays, and cried a little more. Mostly because what I wrote last year is still almost all true, only the attitude and stubbornness quotient has seemed to multiply exponentially (and again, it makes me scared for the coming year). And a little bit because when she was born there was so much sadness about my mom mixed into that experience, plus the whole "I can't believe my baby is so big" thing.

Tonight I will be melancholy, and mourn the passing of time and that my babies aren't babies anymore. Tomorrow I will be happy and ready to make some special birthday memories. After all, it's the last time I'll get to celebrate a 3rd birthday with my child...