Cole is now all of 11 weeks old. He's growing so fast. He's a baby-baby now, no longer a newborn, though he never seemed to be that pink larval baby with new-newness beyond about day 5. Anyway, it is flying by. Now Cole laughs a little, is swatting at things, and babbles more than I remember his brother or sister doing-probably because he's talked to so much by both me and his siblings, so he already tries to 'reply'.
However, while my baby is still a 2-3 month old, I must force myself to remember some things that go away so fast. It's like the time I tried to burn the actual color of the waters in the Florida Keys into my memory by taking off my sunglasses and refusing to squint--to try to burn that certain azure into my retinas forever.
I have to remember how soft new baby hair is. Softer than angora. I love to rub my lips against his scalp, feeling the softness while smelling that 'baby head smell'. (A funny thing: people who have not held a baby in a while will always smell its head--it's a universally appreciated scent, and much coveted by parents of older kids and grandparents.)
I must remember that Cole always smiles at me when he sees me in the morning and is waking up on the changing table. Even if I have run in to fetch him because he slept later than me--which is not often enough!--he calms down and is all smiles once he knows I am there.
I must not forget those sleeping-nursing smiles, and the random cackles as he dreams. What do babies dream, having no words? I am guessing they dream about smiling faces, the way trees look, the ceiling fan, maybe about crying to be picked up, or something that startled them... do they dream about the womb? It's certainly where he's spent the majority of his time up till now. I'm digressing, but I always think, on their 18 month date how now they are more 'of the world' than of my body... that now they have been outside for longer than inside. It may be a strange thing to note, but it's always seemed significant to me.
I must remember the folds of his chubby thighs. My only chunky baby, and all milk-fed. Third time was the charm with nursing, for sure. For once I don't have to worry if the baby is getting enough fat or wetting enough diapers. This child is obviously thriving. Figures the 'littlest' is also the biggest.
Most of all, I am trying to remember to enjoy it. Yes, I'm usually a crank by the end of the day; dinner time is definitely the witching hour here, and I certainly contribute to the aura of grumpiness at times, but I really enjoy this baby so much. I adored taking care of Carter, and to the degree I could enjoy someone who screamed 8+ hours a day, I may not have *enjoyed* some of the specifics of a baby-Bunny, but I loved her and didn't know any different anyway, so it was what it was... but this is my last time and I suppose it's always on my mind that yes, blow out diapers are pretty gross, but even those I'll probably look back on fondly. Even all nighters, sitting with a sick child, with that subtle-panic feeling of "Ohhh nooo, my child is ill, and I desperately hope it's only for a short while", all those pass with time, and become dusty memories. So, since life is the journey (seeing as well, let's face it the destination is the other half of "Something and taxes" that we all have to face in life)... it's best to really take a breather now and then and be a sentimental sap.
Then get back to my general garden variety sarcasm, pronto. Mama has little time for these things, lest she spontaneously conceive another one of these baby folk. Which, speaking of, my sick 2 yr old needs some snuggles, and a lot of tissues. Ew.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Things I want to remember.