The Swiftest Flight

My sweet baby, my last little nursling, is ONE today.


It is so hard to see my last baby leaping from babyhood into toddlerville with such reckless abandonment. She cannot wait to walk and run and jump like her older siblings. She lurches around while clutching my one finger for support, desperate to ambulate like everyone else around her. She wants MY food, MY glass of water, MY bottle of beer. She sometimes has to be pinned down to settle down enough to nurse and finally go to sleep and other times slurps down her milk rapidly while scanning the room for her next opportunity to leap into interesting toddler projects, like flinging my things about the room and stealing her sister's dolls. She cannot bear to miss a single thing.

With your firstborn, you delight in every new accomplishment, from the first smile, the first laugh, and each physical milestone is crowed over and foisted upon every person you meet. "My baby, he sat up today! My baby, he walks!" But the last child grows too fast, too swiftly accomplishing things that once done can never be taken back.

This baby, I want to tie her feet together to keep her from walking, holding her to me forever. I wallow in the smell of her hair and neck and her lingering baby scent. I breathe in her sweet milky breath. I kiss her dippled baby hands and immensely chubby knees. I stroke her immeasurable silky cheeks and cornsilk hair. I let her fall asleep against my chest at night and do not move her sweetly sweaty weight for hours, breathing in rhythmic unity, knowing she will only allow this for such a short time yet. The effortless trust of a baby is a gift only given once and must be cherished above all gifts.

And so today, as I prepare to make her a cake and gather friends and family, I cannot help but cry a little, and hold my birthday girl a little closer, a little tighter, a little longer.

Happy Birthday Baby Bird!