I have recently realized that this is it. This is all the babies I’ll ever have. I don’t like the finality of that thought. It makes me want to entertain the “maybe someday we’ll adopt” thought– which I know is an unrealistic thought. There is a deep and open wound in my soul that bleeds every time I notice a new milestone in Desmond. When he sat, when he rolled, when he clapped, and smiled and learned to scoot around. Yes, as much as I want him to do these things, I don’t want him to do these things. Does that make sense? It does to me.
I am trying my best to relish every moment with this little guy, while not missing the moments of the other children. I feel like I just want to stare at him all day (a watched pot never boils right?). I know I should be encouraging him to cruise and walk, but at ten months old, I’m okay with him being right where he is…army crawling as fast as he can towards that piece of fuzz on the floor. I can hardly stand how much I want him to always be a baby. Seriously. I think I need help. Look at those cheeks. I don’t ever want them to get sun-burned and pimply. I like them soft and chubby just as they are.
Despite my efforts to ignore the inevitable…he’s growing up. I for one am loving the now…pretending the future doesn’t exist.