Squidget was supposed to stay small forever. After all, we made all kinds of changes in the short term, for the long term, never fully imaging what 2 or even 1 would look like. The time between her birth and when she would walk and talk stretched before us like an eternity.
It feels like yesterday, though, when I was afraid I would hurt her tiny arm by pulling it through the onsie sleeve or when I could cradle her entire length in one arm.
We passed the first rollover, the first tooth, the first solid food and the first step at what now feels like mach speed.
Brimming with independence, she walks, runs, climbs and jumps and rarely reaches for my hand to steady herself anymore.
And tonight was the last time she reached her hand upward for kisses then contentedly looked at me through half-lowered eyelashes after nursing and before falling asleep on my shoulder.
It took a year and a half to get here.
She never had issues nursing, but she never took to a bottle, which caused plenty of meltdowns on both our parts when I went back to work. Still, nursing her before bed at night was one of the few uninterrupted moments we had and I secretly loved that she needed me, so we continued the routine long after she stopped nursing throughout the day. After all, those moments of utter replete for both of us will never be repeated.
Now, I have to let go. Squidget already has; it might take me another year and a half.