It's strange how fast the past year of my life has gone. This time last year, I was in the middle of my sixth month of pregnancy; if I remember correctly, I was feeling pretty good, but getting a little scared of what was about to happen. Bringing a new baby into the house with a two-year old was terrifying, to say the least, and I can honestly say that it has been just as hard as I thought it would be. Not only do you have all of the Newborn Olympics to look forward to (with such popular events as One Handed Diaper Change, Baby Puke for Distance, and my personal favorite, The Worst Possible Time For a Poop Explosion), but there's a two year old in there exerting his independence and generally making you want to drop them both off at the nearest shelter.

Fast forward a full year. Run past the actual birth, which in my case involved surgery and a nice three day stay in the hospital. Leap over the first night home when the two year old spikes a 103 fever, causing your husband to dash to the hospital in the middle of the night with the kid, all the while he's yelling at you to stay away from your son because you're the only one that can take care of the baby. Spare a passing glance for the night you were in the ER with the baby at about 10 weeks of age because of a 102 fever of her own; the six needle sticks, the sleep you didn't get that night, and the terror that you remember feeling when you realized that she might be really, really sick (she ended up being perfectly okay, though, so calm down and take a deep breath). Zoom straight through to the holidays, when she finally started sleeping through the night and you praised the Lord that you didn't have to resort to Baby Benedryl, The Medicine of the Desperate. And then you'll end up right here, where you have a baby that has stopped being squidgy and adorable but has replaced them with beautiful and happy. She plays on her own more and more, and every day I'm reminded that this is it. This is the last time that I'll have a baby of my own in the house; this is the last time I'll have that bittersweet mix of indescribably difficult and heart-wrenching love.

Now I get to watch them both grow together, my three year old little boy and my ten month old little girl. She loves nothing more than to get her brother's full attention for just a minute, and it makes me smile to watch them entertain each other in the car on the way to and from daycare. It's hard. Don't mistake that for a second; having kids is harder than I ever thought it could be, and there are days when I think I'm just not cut out for parenting. Those are the worst days, but they are far outnumbered by the good, by the love that they give me each and every day.