Photos & Text by Hannah
My Littlest One,
How can you be so very much like and so very different from your brother? You adore being talked to. You try with all your little might to talk back. You kick so hard your entire body jumps, you flail your arms, you wiggle your eyebrows, shape and reshape your lips, and your eyes are literally lit from within.
Your two-month-old body currently fits nine-month clothes and is currently longer than 97% of babies your age and heavier than 99% of babies your age in this world. This is not strange to me (I've been down this road once before with your older brother), but I still get a good deal of surprise when others discover this about you.
You already roll over from you stomach to your back when tummy time is annoying you. You do tiny pushups, you hold toys and washcloths in a comical effort to get them to your mouth. You do not sleep predictably; one night you'll sleep from bedtime to 5:00 am, then next you'll be up four times in the night (like last night). You track your brother and Tug as far as you can watch them. Few other things hold your attention like those two can.
It is so different this time, for me, knowing you will likely be my last baby. That this may be the last time I will smell the top of a head that's so sweet it's unimaginable. The last time I will cheer a human for rolling over. The last time I will become exasperated during a diaper change because you love to wait to dirty on the fresh ones. The last time I will scrub bottles and pack an entire caravan to take you to a sleep over. The last time my hands will be completely responsible for supporting a soft little body because it cannot support itself yet.
It's a humbling thing. I try to remind myself of it daily. "I may never do this again." It won't be like this for long. The good, the bad, the sweet, the aching, the gritty-eyed-exhaustion. The rampant, high-speed changing, growing, evolving, becoming.
I strain to slow you down even as I wish you'd hurry up. Finishing that bottle. Going to sleep. Stopping the crying fit. When I take the time to pay attention, to remember, I know this time that every second that slips by is one that will never come again. It is the best thing. To keep in the forefront of my mind, to be present, to enjoy every nuance of every moment and every experience. To hold it in my mouth, roll it over my tongue, savor it slowly, relish it with my eyes closed and my mind simply quiet and absorbing. To actually be intentional rather than just letting time happen. You are teaching me this. You are a living, breathing reminder of how to live life. It will never come again. It will never be the same as it is in this moment.
The most beautiful river stops for no one. Even when you sit upon her surface and pay attention and appreciate her, she still slips on past you, under you, around you, and moves on downstream. You can't stop her, you can't hold her. You can only hope to put your hands just beneath the water and feel every drop as it goes by. This is life my littlest one. I am determined not to wait until it's passed before I realize I didn't pay attention.
To be present. To be mindful. To be intentional. This is what you are re-teaching me, my littlest one. And for that, I will always be grateful.
Sites I Dig
The Road is Home
The Seed & Plate
Sharon Covert Photography
The Define School
The Noisy Plume
Sarah Gee Photography
Fox & Owl Studio
The Stork and The Beanstalk
Mellow Yellow Photography
A Simple Little Journal
What I've Been Reading
The Girls by Emma Cline
A Land More Kind Than Home by Wiley Cash
Dark Places by Gillian Flynn
Never Broken by Jewel
Hold Still by Sally Mann