At least once or twice a day, during the four or five times that I sit down to nurse Truman, I find myself pausing, noticing the weight of his (glorious and adorable and yes, still rather big) head in the crook of my arm, and my body floods with, well, all the things. Love. Gratitude. Awe. Wonder. And each time this happens, I can’t help but think that the occurrence is yet another attempt to seal in these moments in case they are the last, not just with him, but with all of my babies.
Truman is now (just shy of) 10.5 months old. He’s doing well with solid foods (read: jarred baby food. I may have made lots of baby food in the past but that is just not happening right now for us and I have more than made my peace with it), and has cut down the number of times he breastfeeds during the day. I realize that now, more than ever, our time together in the rocking chair is limited, which perhaps explains why I find myself clinging to and longing to etch them in my brain on the daily because from here the growing up and getting bigger only accelerates and intensifies.
And what if this is it? What if this truly is the last time we do the whole new baby thing? Because even if we have decided which way we’d like that answer to swing, I still know the outcome is very much not up to me or Ben. So maybe I’m feeling a little nostalgic for these days of a round faced infant in my lap, kicking away and playing with every strap, finger, or stray strand of hair in sight, even though I’m still very much actually living them. I doubt that’s considered “living in the moment” by some, but maybe when you are able to recognize just how much you will miss these minutes and this experience together in the not-so-distant future, and are thereby so deeply, profoundly grateful to be living them right now is actually a way to root yourself in the present.
No? I’m grasping at straws?
OK. I’ll accept that.
And I’ll keep being so mystified and so thankful that I get to live this life and that I get to be this blue eyed babe’s mama, and I will take any and every pause I can get in an otherwise frantic, chaotic world to acknowledge how great these blessings are.