Thursday, August 16, 2012


In the last few weeks, Piper seems to have flipped her growth switch to warp speed, and I'm officially against it. I go through stages with my "sappy mom-ness", but it's been a while since I had a Must Stop This Now type of panic. I can remember the end stages of pregnancy, wanting to freeze time- just stop right there and live in a perma-pregnant limbo, savoring the hope, possibility, and joy of our current stage. I felt it again when Piper was three months old- It was time for me to go back to work, and I was just not ready. I couldn't do it. To think of time moving on, to a place where I wasn't able to snuggle my sweet newborn all day (and don't tell me she wasn't a newborn anymore! My heart couldn't take it!) just wasn't an option. And now, I'm feeling those familiar pangs. So far haven't escalated to full on panic, and I have yet to shed tears over mah BAYby growing up before my very eyes, but I wouldn't rule out a meltdown just yet. She seems to be sprinting (if not literally...) towards her first birthday, and the thought of my chubby, floppy, snuffly, snuggly, snoozy, little infant turning into a walking, talking, sassing, independent, BIG creature just doesn't sit right with me.

For a while I was actually willing her to grow. I knew the baby stage would be fleeting, but the constant exhaustion (emotional and physical) of life with a newborn seemed more than I could take at times. I worried that I wasn't meant to be a mom of babies. That somehow I wasn't cut out for that stage, and God should have found a way to skip a few chapters after the pregnancy part, and give me a kid I could reason with (yes, I still believe an older child means a more reasonable child. Let me live in that version of reality for a little bit longer). With each milestone it got a little easier. She began eating a liiiiiitle bit less, and sleeping a liiiiitle bit more. She could hold a toy. She could sit on her own. She could tolerate the car seat without screaming bloody murder. These were good strides. These were progress. She was still every bit my baby, she was just softening some of her rough edges. (allowing me to smooth back into a life I just barely recognized) But then- it was the rolling. And the scooting. And the crawling. And the standing. And the climbing. The transition to mobility happened in a literal blink of an eye (seriously- it wasn't happening. And then: Boom! It was.) I had previously looked forward to this stage, witnessing Piper's frustration at so many of her dreams being just out of her reach (and by "dreams", I of course mean food, and/or toys, and/or toys that might also be food.) I dreaded the responsibility and worry of baby-proofing, but I looked forward to a bit more independence- for both of us. 

Well, be careful what you wish for, I suppose. Because I am now a mama of a baby on the move. And this mama is worried about just how fast that baby is moving....away....

It's not that I'm not proud of her, or happy to see her learning and growing. It's actually the opposite. She's so fun. So smart. So charming, so goofy, so adorableso her...that I want to freeze this magical slice of nine-month heaven and bask in its perfect balance. She's my big girl, and my baby. She cranes her neck to see over my shoulder to take in the sights beyond me, and she climbs over piles of pillows to trust-fall into my arms for a snuggle. She shovels fists full of food into her mouth, holding up gooey fingers to "share" her snack, and she nurses sweetly in the faint light of dawn, her delicate lashes fluttering as she drifts back to sleep. 

I hoped for this stage. I dreamed of this stage. I worked for this, I waited for this, I cried for this, I earned this. And for as long as possible, I want to stay in this. 

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