The anxiety is mounting.

He is such a glorious boy and every day I find something new and older about him, his longer hair that curls in the bathtub, his 4 sparkly teeth that happily munch Goldfish crackers, his sweet smile and the way his eyes light up when he sees me, the way he bounces in his bed in the morning and talks to his stuffed animals before we come in to get him.  He tumbles around on the floor with wild abandon and I think he's almost comfortable standing on his own, he just doesn't know it yet, so he still holds onto something for reassurance.  He loves water...any kind of water: the pool, the bathtub, the lake.  He squeals and splashes and tries to put his face in the water all of the time and then comes up sputtering and blinking, laughing  a bit before he's doing it again.  He talks on our morning walk and leans over in the stroller to try to touch the wheels or the sidewalk or the sticks we pass.  He loves to swing, even though his little fingers grip the front of the swing so tightly while he laughs.  He's starting to say, "Uh-Oh!" and his little mouth forms the most perfect little "oh."

On the other hand, I find something new and older about him every single day.  Gone is the sweet smell of baby; gone is the fine, super soft and wispy baby hair.  I miss the way he fit across my body when I rocked him, head in one elbow, toes in the other.  The baby chub is melting, too.  With each bounce and each shuffle, each move toward independence, the baby in him slips a little bit further away from me.

I watched him sleep today while he took his morning nap. I neglected housework and letter writing and bill paying and dishes. I rocked him and I stared at him. I traced his hairline and touched the curve of his ear. I ran my thumb across his fat bottom lip and I sifted the hair at the back of his head through my fingers. I'm so afraid that I'll forget the heavy feel of him against my chest or they way his head gets sweaty on my arm and how his hair is so wet and curly when he finally turns it to the other side; how his cheek has the imprint of my sweater on it. I'm afraid to forget what it was like when he could fit on my lap, snuggled up with his warm breath puffing on my neck and our breathing perfectly in sync with each other.


For two hours today I held him. I'll do it until I can't do it anymore.

He is such a glorious boy and every day I find something new and older about him, his longer hair that curls in the bathtub, his 4 sparkly teeth that happily munch Goldfish crackers, his sweet smile and the way his eyes light up when he sees me, the way he bounces in his bed in the morning and talks to his stuffed animals before we come in to get him.  He tumbles around on the floor with wild abandon and I think he's almost comfortable standing on his own, he just doesn't know it yet, so he still holds onto something for reassurance.  He loves water...any kind of water: the pool, the bathtub, the lake.  He squeals and splashes and tries to put his face in the water all of the time and then comes up sputtering and blinking, laughing  a bit before he's doing it again.  He talks on our morning walk and leans over in the stroller to try to touch the wheels or the sidewalk or the sticks we pass.  He loves to swing, even though his little fingers grip the front of the swing so tightly while he laughs.  He's starting to say, "Uh-Oh!" and his little mouth forms the most perfect little "oh."

On the other hand, I find something new and older about him every single day.  Gone is the sweet smell of baby; gone is the fine, super soft and wispy baby hair.  I miss the way he fit across my body when I rocked him, head in one elbow, toes in the other.  The baby chub is melting, too.  With each bounce and each shuffle, each move toward independence, the baby in him slips a little bit further away from me.

I watched him sleep today while he took his morning nap. I neglected housework and letter writing and bill paying and dishes. I rocked him and I stared at him. I traced his hairline and touched the curve of his ear. I ran my thumb across his fat bottom lip and I sifted the hair at the back of his head through my fingers. I'm so afraid that I'll forget the heavy feel of him against my chest or they way his head gets sweaty on my arm and how his hair is so wet and curly when he finally turns it to the other side; how his cheek has the imprint of my sweater on it. I'm afraid to forget what it was like when he could fit on my lap, snuggled up with his warm breath puffing on my neck and our breathing perfectly in sync with each other.


For two hours today I held him. I'll do it until I can't do it anymore.