I’m sitting here, one eye half shut, thinking about how quick the newborn phase went. My baby is two months old now. Not two days; not even two weeks. Two months.
One second, you were just a tiny little thing with your shoulder blocking the way out into the world, and now you’re moving up to size 1 diapers. The time moves fast. Watching you grow every day is both exciting and frightening. Like, fuck, what happened to that little gummy bear I saw dancing on the ultrasound for the first time waving at me and your daddy?
I love seeing you smile and listening to every little cooing session you have at least once out of the day. And, I’m so excited I’ll get to hear your laugh for the first time soon. But, at the same time, I grieve that first night together. I grieve that these moments won’t last forever, and every day you just get bigger and bigger. And one day we won’t be sitting here at 4 in the morning together. In moments like these, I even grieve what it must’ve been like for my own mother.
Right now, you’re wide awake, cuddling in my arms and I am so thankful I get to enjoy every minute of this.