|Photo by Bella Baby Photography, 2013|
Then he grew, a little bit every day, and before we knew it he was a bigger kind of little. He has never been any higher on the growth charts than the 12th percentile so for all intents and purposes, he's still pretty darn little... but he's not as little, you know?
And now we have this tiny little girl, who is just around seven pounds, and she makes him seem even less little.
I find myself stopping in my tracks every few days and realizing that wow, he is still pretty little. He doesn't seem as little now, of course, but every once in a while he stands on his tip-toes to reach something or he struggles to climb up onto the rocking chair and I see it.
In those moments, I can't help myself. I rush over and I give him a hug or a kiss, I say "I'm so lucky to be your mom, do you know that?" and I push him into giving me that look, that flustered and irritated look I already don't exactly love.
It's very strange. Sometimes I look at my boy and I fight back tears because I can't believe how fast he has grown, how quickly the baby stage left us, how much he is learning and growing every single day. I can't believe that this sweet little toddler I know and love today will be gone forever in a few months, will be a totally different child with different words and mannerisms. Then there are other times that I look at him and I have to force myself to acknowledge that he's a toddler and not a baby because to me, he is still a tiny little baby.
It's strange to imagine the way my mother-in-law must feel when she looks at my husband, who was once her little boy but is now bigger, stronger, and taller than her. She's used to it, of course, and it isn't a shock every single time she sees him. I imagine, though, that there are times that it still takes her by surprise. I'm sure it'll be the same for me. In general, it'll be old news... but every once in a while I imagine my breath will catch and my heart will pump a little faster and I'll think, Where has the time gone?
And then I won't be able to help myself and I'll say something sentimental, something I really ought to just keep to myself. And he'll roll his eyes and give me, or maybe his wife, the same flustered and irritated look he gives me now, and the moment will be gone... but somewhere deep down, he'll still be the same tiny baby who fell asleep on my chest, who couldn't and wouldn't sleep without me, who spent every single day smiling at me and asking me to read him one more book. No matter how much taller and bigger and stronger he gets, a small immortalized piece of him will forever remain little through me and my memories.