I’m thirsty, but Orion shrieks when I try to leave him on the couch, so I scoop him up and take him with me. One-handed, I carefully twist the lid off my spill proof grown-up sippy cup. I’m carefully pouring water in when I realize: this phase is almost over. I’ve been holding this baby while I get water for ten months. Not all the time, of course, but it feels like more often than not. But now he’s starting to walk, so my days holding the baby are numbered. Sure, he’ll want to be held for years to come, but it’ll be a sometimes-thing, not a usually-thing.
There. There’s the little pang of oncoming nostalgia. There’s the “it goes so fast!” sentiment. Damn, y’all, it does.
I did cherish every moment, though. From when he was an itty bitty thing, curled up like a pillbug, to now, with his legs splayed around my hip and his strong arms clinging to my shirt, I really did cherish every moment.
A little nostalgia, but just a little. Mainly, I can’t wait to see what’s next.