Greyson has started to attempt to crawl. He is such a little busy body. He is constantly in motion, kicking his chunky little legs and rolling all over the place. He gets on all fours and raises up on his toes and tries to lunge forward with a hop. It’s so funny. He has also learned to use his arms to pull himself. I cannot believe that he is six months old. The time has flown so quickly that it is terrifying. I want to freeze time right now and have him stay six months old forever. He is so cuddly and has the best smile and giggle around. As I pack up his things, I can’t help but feel somewhat somber because this time I will be giving his clothes away rather than packing them up and putting them in the closet. I just left him napping in his room, and I am in tears. I decided to organize his drawers and pulled out all of the little sheets for his moses basket. So tiny, barely used. Although I won’t need them anymore, I couldn’t pack them up. Instead, I folded them and put them back in the drawer. I know it makes no sense, but I did it anyway. His basket is next to his crib, and I cannot bare to part with it. It was first place Max and Greyson slept once they were home. I don’t think I will be able to let it go for a good while.
I am having a much harder time dealing with the finality of it. I am 39. I have two beautiful boys. They are more than I can handle. Financially we are just getting by. There is no good reason to want more kids (other than my lifelong dream of having a little girl) and yet I am having a hard time accepting this. The whole process is a rollercoaster, scary, exhausting, painful, stressful and yet brilliantly magical. Knowing that I will never experience that again in heartbreaking. I will never go through the anxiety of waiting for my period not to come. I will most likely never take a pregnancy test again. I will never feel a life growing inside of me again. There will be no more picking out things for the nursery or buying tiny doll sized clothing because I cannot resist. There won’t be the fear and unimaginable pain of childbirth, and there won’t be the otherworldly experience of holding my baby for the first time and watching him latch on to my breast instinctually. I won’t know that innocence again, and yet I thank God every day that I was able to experience it, not once, but twice. How lucky am I? I am well aware of my blessed life and that so many, despite their desperate wishes, will never experience all that I have. I know that I am greedy. I should be content with what I have, and I am; but I have always had a hard time letting go. Whether it was a lost best friend, an ex-boyfriend, a deceased family member or pet, an unfulfilled dream…I cling because that’s who I am. I am reluctant to release because I hold such things so dear and realize their beauty and fragility. The moments are so fleeting, and I am desperate to make them last just a bit longer.
I look at my Max, now three, sleeping on the couch. As he sleeps, I can see a glimpse of the baby he once was. It seems like yesterday. Things are already slipping away. He has lost his toothless grin, he no longer feeds from me, he does pee pee in the potty, and fights back and protests everything. He is moody and grumpy and frustrated and frustrating. But when he sleeps, he is my baby. His expression is soft, I can hear his breath, he still looks small relative to the large couch. I know that he still needs mommy. I know that I need to look at my children more instead of checking my email. I need to hold them and breathe them in now because I don’t want to miss this moment as I grieve for the moments already gone. Hw
maxneversleeps 