“So, just to clarify, you are saying I can’t buy babygrows with snappers for a two year old?” I said in my best hard-hitting interviewer voice, still not quite believing my ears.
“We certainly don’t stock them. Two-year-olds normally wear vests because it’s easier for…potty training,” She said the final words s l o w l y as if worried they might be the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“Potty training?! But she’s just a baby,” I fell to my knees weeping (ok, I didn’t but that’s what I felt like doing). I left the shop in a daze.
It seems, no matter how much I might want to ignore the fact, Freya is indeed growing up. No more babygrows. Soon, maybe, no more nappies, no more bottles, no more pushing her in her buggy. The baby years, for her and us, are about to be ticked off the list.
Before I know it she will be off to proper school and there will be no looking back.
I’m going to be terrible on her first day, I have no illusions. I know this because all the photos of little people, surely too small for school, in smart uniforms posted on Facebook and Instragram, even of children I don’t really know, had me tearing up. And then there was Topsy and Tim. I actually cried when Joy and Brian (don’t you think he seems like he would be Bryan with a y?) left them at the gates in a recent episode (and the worst thing is I’ve seen that one before). I never cry. Or at least I didn’t.
All those months I couldn’t wait for her to grow up (or rather grow out of her reflux) and now here I am trying to shoehorn her into an 18-24 month baby grow to try and convince myself that we still have time.
If you’d have told me pre-Freya that I would be this emotional, especially about vests, I would have laughed.
Aside from my journals and a small box of things left to me by family members, I didn’t have any keepsakes and thought the sentimental gene had waved to me as it passed by. Now the overflowing brightly coloured box which sits on the slighty bowed top shelf in her bedroom is there as evidence for all to see (well, all who care to look up).
I want to keep every single thing – and as the box includes the positive pregnancy test (is that gross?) it seems like I’m well on the way – but especially her, exactly as she is now when, if I squint a bit, I can still just about see a baby.
Don’t worry, I won’t put her in the box – the shelf wouldn’t take it.