On Monday, November 9, Forrest turned six months old.
Even as I type those words, I can barely believe them.
I just don’t know how it happened. One evening, I was sitting at the foot of my bed giving birth to this tiny little guy, and the very next day, it seems, I’m sitting here giggling with him, helping him learn to sit up, and giving him an itsy bitsy little taste of yams.
My time with Jack has flown, and with Forrest, it seems to have gone by even faster. Does it only go faster and faster?
I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to blink, because that smile? I’m certain it’s one-of-a-kind and what if he changes after that? And these chubby cheeks and this massive baby bum? I’m just sure that I’ll look away, only to find that when I turn back, he’s a grown, independent man.
I find myself squeezing him just a little tighter and lingering on the bed just a little longer after I’ve comforted him to sleep. I watch Jack and realize how it feels like he should still be a little baby, too, and I know that I don’t ever want to wish away a single moment with these soon-to-be men. Our time together is short, but special, and regardless of whether or not there are tantrums, owies, headbutts, pen marks on the couch, or constant running even after I said no amillionzilliontimes, it’s just plain beautiful.
So yeah, it’s already been half of a year. And it sort of feels too fast. But I’m just going to get up every day and remind myself to breathe it in as deeply as I can. Exhale slowly, too. Don’t miss a thing.