I remember observing a friend’s two year old a few years ago and thinking, she is a baby-kid hybrid. Lilah is now at this hybrid stage. She still has chubby cheeks, fine baby hair, and an adorable little baby giggle. She still runs to me for comfort when she’s sad or scared. She still asks me if she can give me “a big, big hug.” She still sleeps with her thumb in her mouth and her body curled into the fetal position. She still has soft baby feet. But those feet are getting big. I’ve noticed a few freckles cropping up on that soft, baby skin. Her hair is finally long enough for a pony tail (not that she lets me put her hair in a pony tail). She likes to boss me around. Sometimes, if I try to sing along with her she gets angry and yells, “No, don’t sing that!” She remembers things and starts actual conversations with me. She has mad negotiating skills.
I knew this part was coming, but the baby days still managed to slip through my fingers. No matter how many times I kiss that little baby face, it continues to mature. No matter how many times I elicit that heartwarming giggle, I cannot bottle it forever. I’ve been here before with Sophie, but somehow it’s harder this time. Perhaps it is because I know how quickly Sophie’s baby days slipped away from me that I am grasping even tighter around Lilah’s baby days. Sadly, it is to no avail. No matter how tight my grasp, those baby days slip farther and away with each passing moment. I can only try my best to bottle them in my heart.
From this:
To this:
