The passage of time is undeniable. Spring is in full bloom and the yard beckons. E and I spent hours outside this week mowing, weeding and pruning. But I never once stopped thinking of sweet baby A.
He should be here with us, experiencing his first spring. We’d plop him in the center of a blanket while we worked nearby only to turn around and realize he’d scootched over to the edge of the blanket and was quizzically shoving tiny fistfuls of grass into his mouth! Perhaps the pack-n-play is a better option or maybe Daddy will strap you into the carrier.
I’d slather on the sunscreen and put a brimmed hat on your downy head. Don’t pay any attention when Daddy says you look doofy.
“This is a lilac, A. Can you smell it? No, no don’t eat it! Smell it.”
Almost 7-months-old, I long for your pudgy sausage-link legs, your creases for wrists, your dimples for knuckles. Delighting in your ever-emerging personality.
I cannot do the simplest task without missing you intensely. Wondering if you’d still wake me during the night to nurse. What I wouldn’t give for a poor night’s sleep! I cannot step foot outside the house without wanting you to be on my hip or in your stroller. All of the neighbor babies are out on their porches or strolling the sidewalks. That should be us Love. That should be us.
Beautiful, sunny Spring with your blooms and warmth, you’re making me feel miserable.