Please Stay Little
I’ve just had a beautiful moment with Moo. She was crying in bed, half asleep and half awake, unable to tell me what was wrong, if anything hurt, if she’d had a bad dream. She didn’t want anything that I offered, milk, some music, a soft toy. So I just held her. I held her tight, drawn in close to me, and I rocked. She fell asleep and I cried.
I cried because of the beauty of it, just my baby and I, late at night, her peaceful face juxtaposed by tear drenched eye lashes. I cried for the memories that I don’t have, of feeling so in love with her when she was small enough to hold all day long. I cried with sadness that she’s not a baby any more. She was a tiny, beautiful, baby in need of her mothers loving embrace, and I missed it.
These moments are so rare now. She’s scarcely still long enough to hold like this, still, quiet, breathing so softly. Every day she’s learning new things and becoming her own person, that tiny bit less reliant on me. I know she’ll always need her mum, and that with new growth comes unexplored joy, but I regret missing so much of the growing that’s already taken place, the cuddles I could have had, the times I didn’t appreciate the curves of her face or softness of her skin. You can’t get that back.