Yesterday I could feel the rough top edge of one of your bottom teeth where it had finally broken through your gum. Teething is so very cruel. Today the gum is swollen around it, but I'm sure by tomorrow, that tooth will be present for all to see and admire.
I don't like it. That tooth. I wish it wasn't here yet.
It's not the baby fever that I feel. I'm giving away maternity clothes. I'm passing on what you and your brother have outgrown. I'm selling your old diapers because I know that we don't need them anymore. I'm alright with that. We have enough children, and I know that our family is complete.
What I have though, is this unrelenting ache for you to stay my baby just a little longer. When I felt that tooth, a little part of my heart crumbled away under the weight of the knowledge that you are weeks or maybe days away from crawling. You are pulling up to stand with your own little chubby thighs. You are eating more and more solid foods. You are less and less a baby.
Pretty soon, the only thing that will remind me of you as a tiny baby is your shiny bald head. You are one bald little dude, Dude.
Daddy is hot to get you boys into your own rooms. Christopher needs to be in a real bed. His poor feet hang out of the crib. And Daddy would love to have you sleeping by yourself. I thought by now, I would love that too. Not the case. I don't know how to describe the completeness and contentment that warms me to sleep when I lay down next to you, pulling you into my arms as close as I can. Always close enough to rest my cheek on your head. I love sleeping with you.
You stayed in the church nursery this week. As in, stayed without screaming every baby curse word in the book at the caregivers. You knew I would come back for you. Plus, your brother was in the same room. I'm sure that helped.
But this tooth. I've been dreading it. The beginning of the end of you being my baby. It's come too quickly.
I don't want another one. I just want you. Just you, being my baby for longer than you will be.