Fleeting Moments

Charlie was swaddled for the last time a couple weeks ago. And I'm not sure I would have thought twice about it if it wasn't for a post I read by a mom suddenly realizing the lasts in her son's life, in her life. I'm not sure my heart can take this view on Charlie's stages. They're are so many firsts to look forward to that I hadn't taken the time to think about the stages we were leaving. Now they're glaring me in the face.

I'm suddenly consumed by Chuck's lasts. I want to hold on to them. I want to remember...

The last time we woke up in the morning only for Charlie to curl up on my chest and soundly drift back to sleep.

The last time Charlie waved his head back and forth like a little cod fish searching for sustenance.

The last time Charlie knocked out in his vibrating bouncy chair.

The last night I groggily dragged myself out to the living room to feed Charlie. (Why did I do this?)

The last time he woke up too early from a nap in his crib and effortlessly drifted back to sleep with me in bed.

The last time Charlie slept fully swaddled, like the tiny burrito he was, all night long.

I can't tell you the exact day when Charlie's balled up fists spread out and started grasping everything in sight. Or when we stopped having to rock him until he was completely asleep. Or when he wasn't able to fit laying in my lap with his head at my knees and feet at my stomach.

I can't tell you exactly when any of these things stopped because I was elated that Charlie started staying up for longer stretches of time, easily latched on, started sleeping in his crib for naps, graduated out of the swaddle that he continually broke out of, nursed efficiently, and slept for longer stretches during his nap times. I love that Charlie can reach for things he wants now. I love that we can lay him down and he babbles away until he falls asleep. And I love that he's big and long and growing beautifully.

I love celebrating Charlie's firsts, but I'm now aware of the speed of his growth. The rate of change. I want to hold on to these tiny moments with him because I know some day soon that beautiful gummy grin will have teeth and that sweet cooing voice will be forming words. And eventually I'll want to snuggle him but will probably have to settle for a high-five. And when that day comes, I hope I'll coolly high-five him back and smile remembering the moments when he celebrated by burring his face in my neck and squealing.