Screeching your displeasure, you throw yourself at my lap. I enfold you in my arms and watch as you sprawl across me, all careless limbs and wide eyes. You’ve gotten so big, so fast and I wonder where the time has gone. How did you go from what you were to what you are?
You were born in a rush, a hasty exit that we weren’t expecting. I put my hands down and caught you myself, bringing you up to my chest. You screwed up your face and screamed at the indignity of it all, being thrust from your haven of warmth into a world of nakedness and cold, of bright lights and voices unmuffled by amniotic fluid. I held you close and whispered to you. They clamped your cord and I cut it myself, making us two separate beings, no longer one person in two bodies. I had held you within my body for nine long months, now it was time to hold you without.
I watch you now, crawling across the carpet, racing away from me as I struggle to dress you; change you; inflict my will upon you. You have your own wants and they don’t always mesh with mine. I want you to be warm and comfortable, I want you to be happy. You want to be left alone, to not be poked, prodded and removed from the electrical outlets.
You pull yourself to standing and look at me, pleased with yourself. Clapping, I tell you how clever you are and we move on from there, your increased mobility helping to leave the traces of baby behind.
Of an evening, I snuggle you into my breast and feed you, the curve of your head matching the curve of my exposed skin. You wiggle around, contorting yourself into new positions without my help, getting yourself comfortable before sighing and falling asleep, my nipple still in your mouth.
I savour these moments, knowing that you’re growing up faster than I ever imagined.
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