Archive | June, 2014

Watching the tiny baby days evaporate before my eyes.

25 Jun

My new baby is now 11 weeks old. He’s also a giant, wearing 6-9 month clobber and zooming through milestones at an alarming rate. Smiling, tracking, rolling over and trying to sit up. I want to press pause.
He is not tiny anymore, not that he ever was that small.
He is my last baby and I’m acutely aware that the baby days are finite. That every moment is the last I’ll have with a baby this small.
As I pack away the little sleepsuits and tshirts that no longer fit, I feel a sense of loss.
I let him sleep on me whenever he wants. I savour the middle-of-the-night cuddles after a feed, often delaying putting him back in the moses basket so I can hold him for a while longer. I listen to his baby snores and hold his little hand knowing that one day soon, sooner than I would like, he will be a toddler, a boy, a teenager and then a man.
These baby days have been so precious, so valuable to me in a different way to my daughter’s. I was more anxious, more regimented. I was so eager for her to grow, to be less tiny, less helpless and less fragile. I rejoiced in her development, the rolling over, the sitting, the crawling.
Now, I want my boy to be a baby for as long as possible. Because once his baby days are over, I’ll never have a baby again. Although this is by choice, it’s still very raw and makes me feel a little sad. As my last hellish pregnancy ended in a near death experience on an operating table for me and a very sad and lonely start to life connected to wires and drips and feeding tubes for my boy, I can not go through that again.
So, I’m enjoying every minute of this baby. Right now, my toddler is at nursery and I should be cleaning, tidying, sterilising, washing up, doing laundry or putting away clothes but instead I’m on my bed with a snoozing, snoring baby on my chest.
I’m dog tired from sleepless nights, I’m hungry and thirsty but I will not put him down just yet. He’ll never be 11 weeks old again. One day he won’t want to rest his head on my shoulder to sleep, or tightly clasp my tshirt in his little fist. He will do other things, amazing things, but the tiny days are numbered so I’ll hold him tight in my arms for as long as he can fit.