With only 8 days left before I go back to work, I have this feeling of time running out. I haven’t written very much at all for my books or blogged as often as I’d wanted. I finished a drawing, but not as many as I’d hoped. I haven’t worked out, even with Pokemon Go. I’ve read a few books (including this post’s namesake), but I’ve only just begun to delve into the pile I purchased with my birthday money at the start of the summer.
I feel my freedom slipping away, but what I know I’ll miss more than any of that when I go back to work is the little moments:
Laying on the couch with my seven month old laying on my chest, face to face. He’s not smiling. I’m not being goofy trying to get the giggles. Instead, I’m in awe of this child I brought into being and how much I love him. I think maybe he’s thinking something similar, but then he reaches up, grasps my glasses, and tries to pull them off my face to study. Close enough.
Taking a few extra minutes at the end of a diaper change to sing with this joyful baby. We aren’t mimicking any specific song or even singing words. We are singing the vowel A, letting the aaahhhs follow any tune we wish.
Crawling across the bed all sneaky-like to get to Oakley before he realizes we’re coming to disturb his rest. We practice how to pet him nicely with open hands, not fists pulling his fur, and definitely not using him as leverage to climb.
Drifting back off to sleep in the morning because he’s still dreaming next to me, until he wakes me with his first little practice kisses on my cheek.
I think back to the beginning of the summer and what I wanted to do, to accomplish. I remember saying: I will spend my summer with my baby. I will watch him try foods, learn to crawl, become a person. We will smile and play, and I will be there for it all.
I was and, because of him, my summer was full. The last 8 days will be, too.