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Last week I cried because I thought he'd fallen asleep on me for the last time without me realizing. Then yesterday he woke every time I tried to set him down. He ended up sleeping in my arms for three hours and I soaked in every minute.
Sometimes they know what we need, too.
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I closed my eyes last week and had such a clear vision of him in my mind, a year from now, a little boy with a big smile running barefoot in the yard.
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slow mornings sipping coffee, cleaning up blowouts, simmering beans, ohfuckitgotontheblanket, watching the wind in the trees
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Somewhere along the way he stopped curling against my tummy the way he did when he was inside of it, he started taking more naps in his crib than on my shoulder, he preferred lifting his head to look around over resting it on my chest. Newborn life was gone in the blink of an eye and though I soaked in every second I could it wasn't enough. How could it ever be enough?
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Often lately I think he looks more like a little boy than a little baby, but I sometimes catch glimpses of his newborn self - in the pout of his lip when he stretches and the shift of his unfocused eyes when he's tired.
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I hope I never forget his little sighs while he eats
The smell of his hair
The way he nestles into my chest
The change in his breaths as he transitions from awake to asleep
If I could just bottle these moments and save them to relive someday when he needs me a little less
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wiping my tears with a milky burp cloth
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