I should have listened instead of stabbing them with a fork

To my little sweetums,

You finally turned 8 months old over the weekend. 8 MONTHS! When you were first born, I spent every minute willing you to grow up faster. I would look at the clock and 5 minutes would have passed by and I would grab your father and yell “Babe, do something, anything. She’s not growing at all. She’s still wrinkly and small and screamy. GROW, BABY GIRL, GROW!” And nothing would happen. I fed you and bathed you and held you and kissed you all over and the next time I checked, only 3 weeks. It’s like I was in a time warp and it was groundhog day. All day, every day.

All you did was stare at me with those teacup pig eyes. Sometimes, when the stars aligned, you would fall asleep in my arms and the world would be perfect.

When momma was 9, I brought home a green bean which I stuffed into a soaked cotton square because my science teacher told us that it would grow into a bean sprout. Like the diligent student I was, I watered it and showered it with sunlight and sang to it. I was hoping that my psychic powers would make it grow faster but I should have known that making things grow faster is not one of my talents.

Then one day, you smiled your first smile. Not too long after that, you flipped over. Then you giggled when daddy blew at your belly. Then you learnt to grab my shirt like you would never let me go. And when I thought that it couldn’t get any better, that I was content to spend my life inhaling that intoxicating baby smell, you decided to go ahead and grow up when I was least expecting it.

Now you’re sitting up all by your lonesome and playing with toys and looking at your brother like he’s the coolest person in the world. In the grand scheme of things, 8 months may not be a big deal because one day you’re going to have your first sleepover and go to college and get married and I’m not even going to think about all that right now because the thought of it scares me.

8 months ago, mothers were telling me to “enjoy the baby moments before it sneaks away” and I was all like “yeah right, you don’t know what I’m going through and oh God, make it go faster before I lose my mind.” Then I stabbed them with a fork. In my head.

But it’s true. The fatigue and tears and depression feels like it will kill you but trust me, it goes away. And the feeling you get when you hold your baby. That feeling where your heart is about to burst and you die from soft, gooey, mushy cuteness. The feeling where you actually wish your baby will remain a baby forever. The feeling that makes you want to do it all over again (although not right now).

I want to remember what that feels like. That’s why 8 months is a big deal. Just promise me you’ll take your time to grow up ok.

With all the love in my heart and more,

Momma.