Time is passing so quickly.
I was lying in a hospital bed one moment, running on pure adrenaline with the most delicious newborn curled on my chest. And the next? I am listening to you shriek with laughter, watching you roll over, and communicating with kisses, songs, tickles, and smiles.
You have changed – but caught up in a fog of sleeplessness, endless nappy changes, and everyday life, I just didn’t notice.
Until that is, I was queuing at the supermarket check-out this morning and somebody sneezed in front of me – and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a newborn baby jump out of his skin in his pram. The kind of jolt where the baby’s entire body moves, before their fingers twitch in shock. “Ah look”, I thought, “Another newborn!”
I made eye contact with the mother and smiled, glancing down at you in your pram as if to say ‘Look! Me too!’ But as my eyes met you – now 4 months old and dribbling as you chewed your own foot – the truth hit me like a ton of bricks. Because you aren’t a newborn anymore.
You no longer jump out of your skin at loud noises. You no longer curl on my chest and sleep peacefully between feeds. You no longer gaze at me with cross eyes as you try to focus. And devastatingly, I can’t even remember the last time I breathed in the scent of your skin and smelt that familiar, milky newborn scent.
Time has passed – and you are a baby now.
A wonderful little baby.
A baby that has started to burrow into me with the sweetest shyness when you don’t know the person you are meeting. A baby that adores her brothers, giggling at the funny dances and songs they perform just for you. A baby that rewards us with long chunks of sleep through the night, but enjoys sqwarking loudly at the crack of dawn to wake everyone up in the house. A baby is that is becoming a little girl.
You are wonderful – but you are not a newborn any more.
And today, I realised that.
I am not sad about you growing up – how could I be? But this morning’s supermarket sneeze was a stark reminder that time is set to fast-forward. Because as a Mummy of three, I know that I will blink and you will suddenly be a little girl, ready to go to school, asking 300 questions a minute, and getting to grips with the joy of phonics (oh lord, I have just realised I am going to have to deal with phonics three times over…) And when that happens, I know I will look at pictures of you as a 4-month old and wish I could go back for just one cuddle.
So Mabel, you may not jump at loud noises anymore – but you are still so very little.
And I fully intend to slow down and soak up every second.