Dear Little Z,
Today I held a crying you in my arms mid-nap, and gently bounced until you fell asleep and my left arm almost fell off. When I set you back down in your crib, you woke up and cried again, and so, we started over. I gently jiggled you until you fell asleep, set you down in your crib, where upon you commenced crying. This time, I slipped out of your room, determined to give a tired, runny-nosed you a few minutes to fall back asleep in your crib, the alternative being the involuntary amputation of my dead left arm where your head much preferred to rest.
Alas, you did finally fall back asleep to resume your mid-afternoon nap, much to the pleasure of my now very tired left arm.
You are 15 months and 2.5 weeks old on this gloomy, October afternoon in Colorado. The year is 2012.
One day, October, 2012 will feel like a long time ago to you. Much as 1984 feels a world away to me. I was your age in 1984, and I’ll be darned if I remember a thing about it. I’ll bet it feels like yesterday to my mom and dad.
When I’m in the thick of jiggling a tired little you down to your nap in the hopes that I’ll have a few more minutes during which to eat my lunch, and you’ll have more minutes to get the rest you need, it can be hard to remember how fleeting this time is. But today, as I fantasized about my hot lunch whilst jiggling you, I was painfully aware that you are getting too big to jiggle.
It makes me sad to think that your baby year is already over. Of course I am excited about the person you are becoming, but I wish someone would’ve told me how quickly this time goes. Wait, people say that all the time, don’t they?
There is something about this second year of your life. I’m realizing more every day how incredible, important, and quick this time in our lives is. This time of parenting a small child is fleeting…unless I was to have many children (I met a woman on her 9th over the weekend!), which is NOT in the plan, I’m afraid.
It’s hard to believe that one day you will most certainly be too big for me to jiggle. The joy that your little baby (tot) self brings me when you laugh, or spontaneously throw your arms around me in a hug, or when you open your toothy little mouth for a kiss (you still haven’t figured that one out yet) is indescribable.
I know that you will always bring me joy. It’s hard to imagine that the joy you’ll bring tomorrow will be at once more complicated and rich. But it will be. Tomorrow is coming all too quickly, and, while I look forward to it, I still relish these days of unabashed, unfettered toddlerhood.
Here’s to yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
Your Loving Mother