Sunday, May 04, 2008


Caleb is seven months old today, and I can hardly beleive it. I can't begin to fathom that we're getting closer and closer to throwing a one year old birthday party. I can't imagine him no longer being a baby and slowly becoming a toddler. I can't bear to think that some day soon he'll be strong enough, independent enough to push away from me as I pick him up for a hug.

Is it okay that I mourn the loss of his babyhood even as I celebrate his accopmlishments and milestones? Because I don't know how to do one without the other.

Tommy will occasionally say that he can't wait till Caleb is old enough to walk and talk. That's what he's been waiting for. A little friend to rough-house with, to teach to throw a ball, to stay up late watching movies when Mommy's in class.

But while I eagerly look forward to the boy he'll become, I am desperately trying to hold onto to these last few months of his first year. Can't I have both?

There's a part of me that's sad, and a part of me that's scared. Seven months in to this gig, and parenthood still terrifies me. It's scary to think that some day I'll be the mother of an eight year old...or even crazier, a fifteen year old. (Oh, lord, help me!) The early romance and thrill of having a baby seems to dull your mind to the knowledge that evenutally that baby will become an actual person who will have hopes, fears, dreams, and opinions. Yikes!!

Just tonight, Caleb began lifting up on all fours, indicating that he's not too far off from crawling. Even as I clap and praise him, I realize this job's about to get a lot harder!

So today, my dear sweet baby, I am both sad and thrilled. I am thrilled at how much you've grown and accomplished in your short few months on this planet. I'm so proud to watch you as you discover this world of our. I'm so excited to be a part of your journey. But I'm sad at how quickly time is flying by. As you fall asleep in my arms after your last bottle of the day, I love to hold your sweet little body in those perfect moments of stillness and quietness. I try to breathe you in so I can conjur up these images, these sights, sounds and smells when they are no longer available. If I could bottle up your musical baby laughter, I'd store it safely for use on days when my heart is broken. I want to freeze you as you are and yet I can't wait to see you grow. Every milestone is bittersweet. You bring me so much joy, my sweet little man. Thanks for letting me be your mom.

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