I miss these baby days painfully.
I miss them like how I miss a vacation when it’s just started – I’m already flying home in my mind, while on the flight there. The days march by, and even in the midst of that sublime moment, when Michael looks at me with shining eyes and a face which plainly says “I like you, I like you so very much, whoever you are”, I am mourning the end of this minute, this day, this week, this year. It will all end one day. I will be returning home with only photographs and something I want to remember (what is it?) and it’s slipping from me and my brain is doing gymnastics and grasping and stretching for all it’s worth, but it’s gone.
They all say that it passes by so quickly. No, it doesn’t. Five months feels like lifetimes.
But it passes. And all the time I am reminded that it passes, as every headline becomes old news in a matter of days. He found his fingers. He can grasp with them. He can pull things to himself. He can pull things to himself and put those things in his mouth. We are tumbling headlong through his milestones.
During the first two months, I would have given anything to jump ahead a couple of years.
Now, I view the coming years with suspicion.
One day, he will be self-conscious. He will compose himself, his face, work on his smile, his posture. He will wonder if his hair looks ok. He will be careful to not drool, not fart, not burp. He will feign indifference. He will feel awkward. He won’t clutch his little sheep toy as he rolls, or he stuff his plastic rattle into his mouth.
All of that is coming, and it makes me feel sore and desperate.
I can only hold him as much as I can every day, until the day that I have to stop. And then I will check my bags, board that plane and take that flight, and hope that I’m heading someplace good.