Puds turns two...
I. Am. Shattered.
And judging by the loud snores on the sofa next to me, so is Puds. This weekend he turned two and it has been non stop both Saturday, Sunday, and most of last week with prep. The lucky boy had two Winnie the Pooh themed parties as Pooh is his most favourite and loved soft toy, a fact that very much pleases my younger brother as Pooh was also his favourite (and probably still is even at 33 years old).
Saturday we had a bbq with our old NCT group, and let me tell you ten adults, and nine very active children aged five and under is no mean feat to squeeze into our house. Somehow we managed though with the help of an emergency gazebo purchase to ward off our rather "humid" English summer. Sunday we hosted an afternoon tea for family in a thankfully much sunnier and drier garden.
We have consumed what feels like a small farm's worth of animals, fruit and veg, made and bought enough cake to give Bake Off a run for their money, and prepared about a million sandwiches. I have a bit of a silly irrational fear of not serving enough food and having guests leave still hungry, but another equally irrational fear of making way too much and having to throw loads away if we can't get through the left overs. This time I think we judged it about right (at least I hope we did, apologies to any of our guests reading this who are thinking the total opposite!) and didnt seem to have too much waste or hungry tummies.
Puds consumed his own body weight in meringues and cake, which is impressive as is a solid little two and a half stone heffalump, and even managed to blow out the candles on both of his birthday cakes without covering them in spit. He has opened a pile of very lovely presents which he adores (even the clothes, he's a big fan of t-shirts) and I have already ear marked some old toys to say goodbye to so we can make space. I just need to sneak them out of the house when he's not looking...tricky as most are musical and movement sensitive!
My boy, my second and last baby turning two has made me a little contemplative. He's going through a big developmental stage with communiction, figuring out how things around him work, and discovering to his utter horror that the world does not revolve around him. Well, the Earth may not, but it's safe to say that my small world certainly revolves around him and his sister. As I watch him nap next to me I'm struck by the thought that from now on he's going to have more and more growth spurts. His gloriously squishy cheeks will disappear as his face becomes longer, the last bits of baby fat he has will become leaner, and his muscles more defined as he becomes an active little boy rather than a toddler. Just as happened to his sister, he won't be as soft to cuddle, instead he'll be more angular and pointy with limbs that flail everywhere like an excited octopus.
I'm going to miss this bit so much when it's over. Watching him grow is the most amazing treasure I could ever have been gifted, and I have made sure to take the advice and "cherish every moment" (apart from him sneezing in my open mouth after chewing banana. That one belongs firmly in the memory bin!), but it wasn't long enough. It'll never be long enough. It's gone too fast and I know I can never get it back. The usual response when I express these sorts of feelings is "have another baby", but I don't want another baby. I don't want another new little human to figure out and get to know, I want Puds and Pickles as babies, and unless someone invents a time machine, it will never happen. I also don't want a permanent baby. Just a baby Pickles and Puds I can have nice cuddles with and then put back into storage when I'm done.
I'm focusing on the exciting new stages to come though. Now he's two our adventures are going to be bigger and last longer because he's gaining stamina and cutting out naps (another thrilling develpoment stage he's going through. Oh joy). We can go on days out and holidays suitable for children, not babies. We won't always have to cart a pushchair around with us, which in turn means we don't have to always plan to only visit places that are pushchair friendly, and we'll have more boot space for the large amount of crap we seem to take with us when we go away.
He can start pre-school in the Autumn term too, which he desperately needs. Every time we pass the door on the way to dropping Pickles off at her classroom, he tries to make a break for it. There's something fun going on in there, and he wants to be a part of it! He'll have his own little uniform and school bag, and will start his own mission of deforestation with the craft projects he brings home (Pickles averaged about 8-10 paintings and drawings a week for the three half days she was in and he loves to draw as much as she did). I remember thinking how grown up Pickles was when she went as she was always quite mature for her age, but Puds still seems far too little, even though I know full well he is more than ready for it mentally and physically.
No matter how big he gets or where his life takes him as he grows older, he will always be my little boy, and I will always remember our cuddles, his excited giggle and his cheekiest smile, even when he has forgotten them. So to finish, and in the spirit of his Pooh party, I will end with this quote from A.A. Milne:
"So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."