It does feel kind of poignant, until of course she wakes up screaming. Or calling for me at 6:30 am. Well, no more babies here. We're all toddlers/big girls now. And I will, somewhat sadly, somewhat with relief, never have another one-year-old.
For posterity, here are some of the cute things she did when she was one. She matched that blue hat and that pink dress, for one - more fashion sense than I've got! She put her hands out to her sides, palms up, and said "where? ba-bap, where" (bird; replace with anything or anyone else she was looking for). She jumps up and down to express pretty much any emotion. She thinks 'carry you' is a verb (Mummy carry you me?) She loves animals. She sings! She knows that Twinkle Twinkle and Ba Ba Black Sheep are the same tune. She LOVES to put little metal balls in containers and move them all around. She loves it a lot. She can slot circular pieces into a Connect 4 game for an hour (!!?). She loves her shiny pink shoes, the ones she didn't want me to buy for her, for 5£ in a shop (they are nice brand name ones believe it or not...) because it threatened her connection to her wellies, to which she was devoted. Throughout the year she has loved shoes, with their implicit commitment to going out. She loves going outside, being outside, seeing birds, hearing birds. She loves her routine, and her friends at nursery. Woe betide the mother who thinks Annika might put a coat on without a sweater first: think TANTRUM. She loves it when Rosa brings her home. She loves her horsey coat (aka snowsuit), her Matthew jammies, and her owl T-shirt. She flips through Bear Snores On, on the tube; she wants to see pictures of horses, of Susannah, of Annika's funny faces, of my funny faces, on my phone. She says "HI PEOPLE" to people who sit down near us, 'thankoo' when someone gives us a seat, and charms everyone with her enormous smile. She calls her backpack the 'backap'. She and Nina call out: Mummy, we love you, come and cuddle us! in the morning. She wants to do ballet just like Nina. She dances. She loves music.
For a month or two I've been thinking of her as my two-year-old; probably since the first tantrum about putting her wellies away, followed by her absolute insistence on putting her wellies away every day thereafter. But I should have been thinking of her as my one-year-old, because now it has already slipped away.
Happy Birthday, my smaller child. My baby.
