All of a sudden, Avery is a full blown toddler. She went from baby to little kid in such a short period of time I’m not even sure I wasn’t in some sort of stress-induced coma for the past few months. It’s shocking. She’s learning words at an incredible pace; several a day. She’s putting two and three words together to make little mini-sentences. She’s asking us for things in proper questions (“Mooooore, peeeese?””Oopee, peeeese?”) and following instructions. She has figured out that we grown ups don’t really understand grunts as well as we understand English, so she’s making the adjustment for our benefit. And the fact that we finally get what she’s been trying to tell us? So thrilling. You can see the joy in her eyes that she might actually get what she wants, instead of what we thought she wanted.
She goes to bed like a champ; been sleeping through the night for almost 8 months, with rarely a peep out of her. I sing songs while she drinks her bottle (a habit the doctor has been encouraging us to give up; I’m not ready yet), and she goes to bed, happily, with a kiss and a ‘night-night’.
She loves helping, putting garbage away, especially. She can return toys to their place of residence, when asked.
She’s feeding herself with utensils (sometimes; she uses her fingers because she knows it bugs us). She plays with Barbies with Eirinn and wrestles with Daddy. This Christmas, she’ll be getting dolls and books and train sets, instead of teethers and rattles and crinkly things.
She’s finally interacting in a way that we all understand, her and us, and we’re all getting happier because of it. When we know what she’s trying to tell us, and can understand it as English, she is so proud. And so are we.
AH and I are done having kids. Like, done done. Medically done, if you know what I mean. Those who don’t know often ask me if we’re going to have another; try for a boy. No, we’re not going to have another, we’re not going to try for a boy, we’re happy with what we have. Besides the fact that we couldn’t handle another; our kids seem to get exponentially more active and we, unfortunately, get exponentially more exhausted. Another one would probably be born with the ability to climb walls and we would be forced into reclusion. Besides that, what’s wrong with having just two? And what’s wrong with having two of the same sex? I love my girls and I’m glad they’re not boys. Not that I wouldn’t have loved them equally if they were, I’m just happy with what I got.
And I know for certain that I’m at ease with our decision to not have any more children when I can write a post dedicated to my youngest growing up and not long for another baby. I don’t miss the baby stage. I don’t miss sleepless nights and fragile necks. I don’t miss the car seat carrier and the baby sling. I’m glad to be done breastfeeding and constantly carrying a little person forever. It was all wonderful and lovely and beautiful as it was happening, but I don’t want it again. I don’t need it again.
When I see other people’s newborn babies, I can see and appreciate how sweet and adorable and precious they are in all their fragility and innocence and smallness. But not once do I wish I could have another. I don’t long to have all of that again.
Two is enough. Two is perfect.