I find myself clinging to moments. Her tiny body curled up against mine, her little smile greeting me in the glow of our nightlight. Our stolen time together, our time alone. Glimpses of the laughter to come when her kitty toy grazes her face. The way her eyes light up and her head turns to listen to her sister talk across the room. She’s a relaxed, happy baby.
Parents often lament the passage of time. My feelings are nothing new, but there’s an extra sting to the days flying by when you know you’re holding your last baby. Sure life could surprise us, but I’m fairly certain this is it. Beautiful and fleeting. Only a newborn for a few more weeks.
I worried a little about our bonding in the beginning. Not because there wasn’t love, but because it didn’t feel as earth-shattering as I expected. Now the worry is gone. We just needed time to melt together, to know each other better, to find our rhythm. I dreamed I lost her the other night, and the pain was unbearably sharp but also reassuring in its rawness.
Two months have passed and I’m not sure where they went. They just disappeared. So now I’m holding on even tighter.