I'm not a baby person. I wasn't before Henry was born, and I'm still not. I will politely admire your baby, but I will probably not wrestle her out of your hands and coo over her for hours. I'm just not all that interested in babies. Babies. Plural. Maybe I should say I'm not an "any" baby person.
Because Oh. My. God.
This baby?
This baby is different. This baby is nothing short of miraculous, wonderful, beautiful and perfect.
Your baby is cute. But my baby? My baby is divine.
Peter teases me because at every milestone or month birthday I say the same thing.
"Don't you just wish he would stay exactly this age forever?"
When he was tiny and fit up on my shoulder and would pull his little feet in, stick his butt out and fall asleep. Ohhhh...stay this age forever.
When he was a little bigger and we got the first toothless grins...Ok, this age.
Now that he's rolling over, so proud of himself, reaching for and biting everything, learning to sit up and laughing at tickles and at Bella. Alright...this is the age I would keep.
Motherhood is so joyful but also a little bit tragic because of this exact thing...it's the growing up that hurts a mama's heart! Each moment is so precious and they're just passing so quickly!
And yet, while its a little sad to see those little moments go, the joy of what's around the corner is so exciting.
Mom? Can we be done with pictures?
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