Baby Love
Madmomma has a beautiful post for her daughter Bean's 6 month birthday. It's emotional, sensitive and loving. Here's a taste.
And with the pride of being the humble vessel that carried you, comes a sadness that you are moving further away each day. Tomorrow you officially begin your solids and mama is no longer your sole nourisher. From blood to milk, the attachment and dependence you have grows less. But for me, it gets stronger everyday. Each day I love you just a little more. Just when I think my heart will explode with love, I find you've sneakily wriggled deeper in, squeezed just a little bit more love out of my already much stretched heart. And I wonder when you will turn around and hurt me. When you will have grown far enough to break my heart over some decision. When you will be old enough to callously dismiss the mother who just digs her grave deeper every single day by investing just that little bit more in you.
And last night as I lay there admiring your lashes resting gently on your chubby cheeks, I fell in love with you all over again. And again I wondered at how your pockmarked father and pug nosed mother made such a perfect, perfect baby. I selfishly kissed your sturdy little legs, the little birthmark on your wrist and played with your soft hair, not caring if you woke up. Knowing that time is flying and someday when I creep up behind your chair and kiss your head you will cringe and say 'What is it ma? I'm busy.'
It won't matter sweetheart, go ahead, be busy. Because I have admired you and held you and played with you and cuddled you to my heart's content. Well, maybe not to my heart's content. I don't know a mother who doesn't bemoan her little babies growing up. But I know that I have wrung out every moment of pleasure that I possibly could. From bathing you to feeding you to holding you against my skin and refusing to let anyone even give you a bottle of expressed milk. No regrets. Ever.
And with the pride of being the humble vessel that carried you, comes a sadness that you are moving further away each day. Tomorrow you officially begin your solids and mama is no longer your sole nourisher. From blood to milk, the attachment and dependence you have grows less. But for me, it gets stronger everyday. Each day I love you just a little more. Just when I think my heart will explode with love, I find you've sneakily wriggled deeper in, squeezed just a little bit more love out of my already much stretched heart. And I wonder when you will turn around and hurt me. When you will have grown far enough to break my heart over some decision. When you will be old enough to callously dismiss the mother who just digs her grave deeper every single day by investing just that little bit more in you.
And last night as I lay there admiring your lashes resting gently on your chubby cheeks, I fell in love with you all over again. And again I wondered at how your pockmarked father and pug nosed mother made such a perfect, perfect baby. I selfishly kissed your sturdy little legs, the little birthmark on your wrist and played with your soft hair, not caring if you woke up. Knowing that time is flying and someday when I creep up behind your chair and kiss your head you will cringe and say 'What is it ma? I'm busy.'
It won't matter sweetheart, go ahead, be busy. Because I have admired you and held you and played with you and cuddled you to my heart's content. Well, maybe not to my heart's content. I don't know a mother who doesn't bemoan her little babies growing up. But I know that I have wrung out every moment of pleasure that I possibly could. From bathing you to feeding you to holding you against my skin and refusing to let anyone even give you a bottle of expressed milk. No regrets. Ever.
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