To My Baby

This morning, you slept in my arms.

When I heard you cry, I was a little disappointed at the early hour; I was hoping you’d sleep in a little later.  I quickly realized, though, as I sat with you on the couch that you weren’t ready to wake up either, so you peacefully closed your eyes and drifted back to sleep, wrapped in my arms.

As a new mom, I was so concerned about getting you on a schedule and making sure you knew your bassinet was for sleeping that slumbering cuddles quickly became a thing of the past.
But this morning, nine months from the time we really cracked down on solo sleeping, I held you once again, and watched you sleep so serenely. 

I noticed immediately how much you’d changed since the last time we’d cuddled like this.  Your little body isn’t quite as little as it once was, and your feet dangled well over the edge of my lap.  Your hair is coming in thicker, but lighter than when you were a newborn.  Your eyelashes are darker; your neck is more defined; and your sweet hands no longer clasp onto mine reflexively. 

Still, I can trace the same folds in your ears; your lower lip hangs in an adorably pouty manner as it always has; and your soft cheeks are still plump and kissable. 

Though I really should have laid you back in your crib and gotten another hour of sleep, myself, I cherished the moment I had with you.  See, in a few short months, we’re going to have another baby in the house and you, all of a sudden, will no longer seem quite so baby-ish.  You’re going to be walking, maybe talking, and, hopefully, fully sleeping through the night. 

The truth is, we didn’t plan to have a second little one only 14 months after you.  Your little brother came as a surprise.  The moment I learned of his coming, I felt some sorrow knowing that you wouldn’t be my baby, my only baby for very much longer.  In that instant, and maybe for the next few days, I took the time to memorize your cherubic face, to relish your new laugh, and delight in your every move.  But soon after, the worry and fear of having two babies overcame me, and I spent my time wishing you’d grow up a little faster.  I didn’t know how to handle having two babies – I often still feel overwhelmed by one.  Suddenly, I needed you sleeping through the night because I sure couldn’t handle the sleep deprivation of two little ones waking me for night feedings.  I hoped you’d be walking, and walking well because I didn’t think I could carry an infant and an almost toddler up to our third floor apartment multiple times a day.  I even wondered if you could potty-train a 14-month-old because who wants to be changing two sets of diapers and running the risk of two blowouts with any lengthy car ride?

So I worried about you not growing up fast enough, encouraging you to reach each new milestone quicker and quicker.  Of course, seeing your development made me worry about you growing up too quickly.  I worried about missing the magical moments in every stage.  I worried about worrying.

And I’m still worried.  I don’t know what the future holds, and that’s hard for me.  I don’t know what this new baby will be like, and I don’t know where you’ll be at by the time he comes. 

But this morning, it didn’t matter.  This morning, I reminded myself, to slow down just a little more, and to take a few more pictures once you awoke.  This morning, from 6 until 7, I held you and studied you like a mother does, and you were my baby still.