Little Lesson

On Saturday, Eleanor didn't have the best naps. She was grumpy as a result. There were plenty of times she could have napped, but she refused for some reason unknown to me. I admit, I was so excited when it was finally her bedtime. I wasn't as thrilled when she woke up an hour and a half later. In her fussiness, she hadn't ate as much as she would on a normal day. I begrudgingly mixed up a bottle and went to feed her.

Sitting in her dark room, feeding her, I was really struck by how much she had grown. Her body doesn't curve into mine just so anymore. Her legs dangle past me and her back arches in attempts to escape. Her thighs are full of rolls and her belly pushes out. She holds her own bottle, even raising it higher at the appropriate time. She still breaths deep and with the tiniest hint of a whistle. She still radiates heat. But certainly, this is not the same baby that I gave birth to less than 6 months ago. What happened to her? Where did she go?

Every month, every age, is my new favorite. I hope for new milestones with a scary intensity. I'm constantly wishing for the growth spurt, this leap, this week to be over. But sitting in the dark with my squirmy, not so little anymore baby, I was just relishing the moment. Before I know it, there won't be anymore nighttime feedings. She won't snuggle into me as often. She won't be endlessly amused by my kisses on her tummy. Time is going too fast. Hours into days into week into months into years, all happening too fast for me to catch my breath and catch up.

I'm going to try and remember this feeling when it's 6a.m. on a weekend and Eleanor wants to be awake and talking. Or when she is unreasonably grumpy and ruining an outing. Or when she shrieks in a crowd and everyone stares. For all the parts that I may want to wish away, there are a least a million things I wish could stay.