Today, I had a major mom milestone.

I threw away the very last bottle from my very last baby.

I started writing about milestones when my daughter was 2 months old and now she is a real person. She is currently sitting leopard print rug in my bedroom, playing “Vanaculy” (*Editor’s Note: Monopoly) with her godmother.

Time races by.

When it came to my daughter, I didn’t have this ritual. First, because I breastfed for 18 months and also because it didn’t feel like “the last one”.

And like I said yesterday, I don’t know for certain what my family picture will look like in the future, but if I am being honest to you–to myself–then my son, who turns 19 months old today, will likely remain my youngest child.

Throwing away the baby bottles is such a tangible expression of something that is so hard to put into words.

It’s the end of an era, both in the big picture and small.

My son, my baby, is no longer a baby but a toddler. A boy.

Yesterday, we went to the farm with dear friends for fresh ice-cream and animal petting, and my son licked the plastic bench. Full on tongue to bench action. And then he got to drink a chocolate milkshake at 11am. Hashtag second child.

But in all seriousness, baby bottles traded in for morning milkshakes really solidifies the fact that he is no longer a baby.

I will never again have a baby.

But, you know what? I made it through this milestone, realizing that while I won’t have that ever again, I have so much.