I’m so scared I will forget the countless precious moments floating in and out of my day.
I read an article ‘Don’t let me forget their littleness’ and wanted to capture just a little of my own sense of awe and fear.
Each night at home I have this perfect moment, it’s all mine and his. He’s just finished his last feed of the day and has drifted off to sleep in my arms. At the end of his last sip he turns his little head and nestles into my chest some more. I run my finger over his pink, round cheeks and his skin feels so soft. Please don’t let me forget this feeling.
I then wrestle with this perfect moment and selfishly want to keep him in my arms, especially if the day has been hard, but I know I need to put him to bed as quickly as I can. I’ve learnt the hard way through previous failures that I have at most a five minute window before the noise of the house will wake him. I want to remember that sensation of selfishness and keeping him in my arms.
I often wish I’d chosen a more useful path in life, like a nurse or teacher, but now I sometimes feel that breast feeding has given me a chance to feel like someone who has a purpose. This reflection comes with no judgement; breast feeding has been the biggest challenge of the last eight-and-a-half months, but I never want to forget those moments.
Our bald little baby has also started to grow hair. I tell him, he was in such a hurry to come out he forgot to pack some, but now delicate, feathery little strands of mostly blonde hair are growing across his head. I want to remember his bald baby head and not forget how his baldness made him look more surprised.
Right now he has the happiest gummy smile, but even as I write this a big, bad tooth is forcing its way through his bottom gums. Please don’t let me forget the most incredible smile I have ever seen.
He’s more and more starting to really reach for my attention and this week has handed me books, I’m sure he doesn’t understand what you do with books, but he seems to know I want him to pay attention to them and likes to look at my face as I read them to him.
We were able to spend some time with my parents over the weekend. Watching the joy on their faces as he slobbered all over them, and they promised to fill him up with ice cream and biscuits is something I never want to forget.
All the moments from the first gurgle or cry of the morning, watching him eat normal food and try different flavours, wrestling him to sleep when he is so tired he is cranky, watching him trying to crawl and trying to stand up, playing and singing and swinging him in my arms as we dance. All moments I try and score in my memory in the hopes of not forgetting.
It seems a paralysing joy, but at night when I go to bed I’m grateful for every moment, but scared I’ll forget all that happened.