I feel like I’m turning the pages of our calendar like a druggie on speed flicking the pages of a magazine. I feel like I’m living my life on fast forward. You give birth, a few days later you have a six month old, before you know it you’re planning your baby’s first birthday party, and then, lo and behold, he’s eighteen months!
At first I had a really hard time accepting that you only get to spend such a short amount of time with your adorable newborn, your pudgy six month old, and so on. Your baby gets the cutest hair, complete with rubbed off hair hole on the back of his head, or fluffy white blond hair that stands up on end, or just enough hair to make a mohawk in the bath before his hair gets too long, and then you’re on to the next to the next hair style. And the thing is, each stage seems to be the best one! It took a while for me to realize that it was actually Matt himself who I’d fallen in love with; the twinkle in his eye, his heavenly smell after the bath, the way only you can comfort him after a crash landing in to the flower bed, the way he resembles your husband and how lucky you feel to have the love of your life cloned in to your son. So I guess as long as you don’t change his shampoo or divorce your husband, you can fall asleep at night safe in the knowledge that although your baby is heading straight for the terrible twos, he’ll always, without fail, be able to melt your heart just by being the little angel or the little terror that he is.
