Double digits, kid. Ten months. How is this possible? Just yesterday, you were curled into the nook of my arm, eyelids fluttering, a beautiful little bobble-head. And now. Now you are scooting and standing and doing that sniffy smile. Now you are opening and closing your tiny fist, waving hello, and goodbye. Now you are clapping, usually in threes, precise little pats. Now you are chasing your sisters and hugging your kitties. Now you are saying words. Da-da-da. That-that-that. And my very favorite of course: Mem-mem-mem. Now you are eating real food: the lone soggy fry, the disc of bologna, the constellation of Cheerios across the sky that is your crusty tray.
Here's the deal: You are likely my last. And so I apologize if I hold you a little too tight and a little too close. I apologize if I stare a bit, and swoon a lot. I apologize if I am forever putting a camera in your face, your beautiful face. It's only because I am in awe, and in love. It's only because sometimes I am foolish enough to think if I stop, and click, pressing pause on the mad machine that is life, time might stop too.
I love you, tiny thing. And those blue eyes? Really? Really?