Too Short

If you ask to hold my baby and notice a flash of wildness in my eyes and notice my mother arms clutch a little tighter, don't take it personally.

I'm in a soaking-in-the-sweetness moment.  

Call it apronstringitis that struck really early.  The 3-6 month clothes are waiting in the wings.  I'm pushing those away, but it's a battle soon lost.  Tomorrow he'll be bigger.  He's growing.

These feelings also strike at night when I've been up taking care of him and the bed calls.  It will be one of those wee morning hours.  He'll be fed and asleep.  We could get back to bed, but his babyness has a firm grip on my heart strings.  It's quiet, no one else is vying for their turn, and I can enjoy the moment.

Or two or three.

I love it.

Eventually the voice of reason starts talking, whispering things about extreme tiredness and the list of to-do's for the next day.  Since I'm already sleep deprived, the voice eventually wins, but not without a battle.  At least I've had my moment. 

Not that I don't also love watching others enjoy him, especially my husband and other children.  But this baby time is so short, as I've seen with my six others.

Then again, the three's and seven's and nine's and twelve's and fifteen's and sixteen's are short too, and I need to enjoy and appreciate those as well.

Don't mind me.  There's a piece of heaven in my arms.