This morning my daughter, our youngest child, was crawling on the dishwasher as my husband was emptying it, standing on the door with a red spatula in her hand. I gently removed her from the door, told her “no,” and she toddled to the kitchen door to look outside at her kitten. Her kitten, Tiger Lily, is a dilute calico, and she likes to rest in a basket on our back porch, basking in the warmth of the sunlight. My daughter stands and stares at the cat as she sleeps. As I watched this all unfold, I said to my husband, “Wow, she’s our last child.” He looked at me and chuckled, because we both know she’s our last one. And while I’m confident and secure in our decision, there’s a part of me that was awakened in that moment that is a bit sad that this is the last time I’ll have a 1-year-old in my house. And, even at age 1, final baby milestones have already passed:Click here to read the rest of the essay on Parenting.com
