To the baby who will eventually read all these posts about her development over her first year:
I’m sorry this is going to be a short summary of all the stuff you’ve been doing. You are currently napping in your swing*, and I have no idea how long your slumber will last. Writing about you during your waking hours is out of the question, as you are in to everything and love to have my full, undivided attention.
*Which, incidentally, you totally busted out of a few days ago. I heard you screaming bloody murder and when I went to go check on you, you were dangling by your leg from the strap. My apologies for not buying you that baby straight-jacket that could have held you in place.
Crawling has given you a new lease on life. There is no turning back from your semi-independence. I think back on eight months ago when you were smaller than the throw pillows on the couch and could barely latch on when I fed you. Now you can make it across the entire apartment in about 15 seconds. You are growing too fast. You’re killing me, C. I want you to stay small, but with each new syllable that you utter, you are romancing me with the more mature you. You’re coaxing me with your delicate movements and I am beginning to wonder if all that time I was pregnant with you and when you were a newborn was just a figment of my imagination, since the child I have now is more a girl than a baby. These two yous can’t exist within the space of one year.
I am resigning myself to your 12 month old outfits, even though you’re only just now beginning your ninth month outside of me. I’m putting the clothes you’ve outgrown in a bag in your closet. It’s a big yellow bag they gave me at the hospital when I had you, a space to put all the personal effects of my pregnancy. Now it holds the footie pajamas I can’t pretend you can still wear. My organized self used to like cleaning out your drawers of the clothes you had outgrown, but now it makes me sad. Just one more night in your tiny green pajamas? Just one more morning with a long sleepy nursing session?
No, you have places to be and toilets to inspect. I don’t blame you for it, but I am already missing the girl you were this morning, only a few minutes ago. Yet I adore the girl you are now. You are beckoning me forward and holding my hand as I become the mom you need me to be, all while I hold you up right back.