It is happening. Although I have begged, cajoled, reasoned and clawed, my baby has turned one.

He has a lot of new tricks—pulling up to standing, cruising around the furniture, getting himself to standing from his back. He can speak, even saying some complete sentences—“I want more”; “What’s that?” He tries to say almost every word that comes his way and communicates now so clearly.

He loves his daddy in new ways, which has opened up a whole new chapter in their relationship.

So why am I so sad?

Maybe it is because I know he may be my last. That every time I hold him close and cuddle him and bring him to my breast, we are inching closer to the last. His babyhood is fleeting, but it still seems like yesterday I was in the last weeks of my pregnancy, antsy and anxious, waiting to meet him for the first time.

I love this new toddler, to be sure. He is luscious and funny and his personality reveals itself in new ways everyday. But I will always, always miss my baby and I know when I look at him, I will always see this:

I know we have loads to look forward to, after all, his sister amuses me more and more each day. But I can’t help breathing deeply when he presses his little baby head into my chest and trying to inhale that smell deep into my lungs.

Everyone tells you how fast they grow, but it is only once you experience it that you realize those are not just platitudes.

My baby is one (happy birthday to him!) and I am thrilled to have pulled through the newborn phase of my second child with only slight battle scarring. But I will miss his little hands and feet and miss the time when he was all mine.

It all goes too fast, indeed.