To My Last Baby
It’s not often I take to a sappy blog post, but this month has me thinking of
all the things”. And thus, here we go: To my last baby…
This month you are turning seven months old. And as it stands, I’ve no idea how we’ve gotten here. It both seems like you have been with us forever and yet you’ve been little for such a short span. And the truth is, this month I am all to aware of how much you’re growing.
We’re on the other half of the year mark now and it’s scary. You are my last baby and I want oh so much to treasure everything about you. But time is moving too quickly, as it seems to do when you have kids.
But I’m scared.
I’m scared I’ll forget those early feelings of labor when I denied you were coming. Hoping but not voicing that this was it. I’m scared I’ll forget the feeling of holding you the first time, of that instant connection.
I’m scared I’ll forget the exact smell of the top of your head as you curl in closer to my neck, silently begging me not to put you down for sleep.
I’m scared I’ll forget the random milestones; the first time you sat in a cart and not in the car seat. When you grew out of specific outfits, your first truly favorite food.
I’m scared I’ll forget how tired my arms used to get because you required me to hold you for most of the day.
I’m scared I’ll forget the precise pitch of your first few laughs. The way, at seven months, your entire face comes alive in the morning when you see me. The mischievous dance in your eyes.
I’m scared I’ll forget the feeling of hearing your sobs quiet when I picked you up and held you as close as possible. Or the wonder and awe in your eyes when I looked down while breast feeding.
You may think it’s silly, these fears. But I’ve forgotten with your sister.
Our mind is a powerful thing and the reason that time heals all wounds is because our mind helps us dull them, makes them less important. And while this is a great mechanism for pain, for labor, for grief, it is bittersweet when it comes to our babies.
You see, as much as I am excited about all the firsts you will have, I am still sad about the lasts. I love watching you grow, learn and take on the world but I’m going to miss these moments.
Moments of sheer exhaustion and rocking in the middle of the night. Moments of comfort and growing and intense snuggles. Moments of helplessness, happiness and the purest love.
I’m scared these little moments that seem so big to me right now will fade, will be forgotten. Until one day, you’re all grown up. And while I know I will have then done my job, I can’t help but mourn this memory exclusion.
Because the little things, they were important.
Watching you learn to splash in the bath and splash yourself in the face was priceless. Witnessing you practice your plank and crawl position for hours only to fall on your face and giggle makes my day. Hearing you laugh at your sister making funny faces lights me up. And of course, feeling you snuggle in for just one last cuddle before bed, will hopefully, forever be branded in my mind.
But I know I’ll forget your smell, your silly faces and your habits.
It’s a hard thing, this mom gig. There’s so much I want for you. And as scared as I am to let go of the little, day to day things I notice about you, I want you to know this: they meant the world to me. Your laugh, your smile, your sheer you-ness are forever imprinted in my mind.
Above all else, just know that I love you. Always.