But here's the but: with each of the girls, their growing-up-ness was very front-of-mind because for each of them at G's current age, I had a looming birth reminding me that neither of them was my baby. When E was a toddler, there was L growing in me and when L was a toddler there was G and I didn't spend much time sentimentalizing last Robeez or last baby food batches or last bottles before straw cups. The big moments got their proper respect: first haircuts, last nursing, first words and last thats and first thises, but I gave each celebration its proper due and carried on. I didn't linger; there was no time or reason. There was another baby coming.
There is no other baby coming, and this is not a post about sadness over that because there is no sadness over that because I've known forever that I wanted zero kids or three kids and we've leapt way past zero. But it's something to marvel, that G's milestones can take the lazy way in coming, because there is no urgency to clearing shelves or toy bins or clothes drawers for another. He won't be sized out of any stage by an up-and-comer, and I guess that's the privilege of "youngest."