“I can’t believe she’s already 1!” I scrawled in thank you notes after my daughter’s recent first birthday.
Lies! I can absolutely believe my baby is one.
At some point I decided that, as a mom, I’m supposed to be scared, to pull moments close and try to never let them go. And when they inevitably do go, I’m supposed to think, frantically, where did the time go?! Fear with a heaping side of guilt. Did I savor it enough? Did I savor it the right way? Did I get the right pictures? I saw an ad from a camera company in my Facebook feed the other day that stopped me in my tracks: “You only have one chance to capture their first moments. Don’t regret it.” Boom. It was basically the advertising version of that ominous warning thrown at moms everywhere – “it goes by so fast!” Good job, camera company. You know how to hit a mom where it hurts.
Except not me, not anymore. I don’t regret not having that camera by my side, dear Facebook ad. I was there and I remember. I may not always remember every moment, but right now, I CAN believe my baby is one year old, because I was there.
I was there for almost every breath, every scream, every smile. I watched her hair grow. I watched her eyelashes curve and flutter while she slept, while she nursed, while she learned to eat solid food, while she learned to (terrifyingly) use a fork.
I watched the minutes stretch out like silly putty, except there wasn’t anything silly about it. I watched the minutes fly by, disregarding my shouts to slow down.
My baby isn’t “gone,” she’s still here. She’s still small. She still doesn’t walk or talk (that much). When she’s fussy or upset, I still think “Does she need food or a drink? Does she need a diaper change? Does she need sleep?”
Yes, she’s very different than one year ago. But I’m not sad. Yes, I cry when I think of this year. I cried while writing this post. Like an ocean wave it swallows me, catches me, and tumbles me down the shoreline. But I’m not sad. I don’t regret not being able to see that baby right in front of me anymore.
I’m overwhelmed, though. I’ve changed a lot this year too. It’s a lot to take in.
I do miss her tiny newborn body and its gentle weight while she slept against my chest. But, I always knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop time. I knew I wouldn’t be able to pause, rewind, replay. I try my best to take photos, take deep breaths. Enjoy this day, this moment. And there are days I won’t miss. You can’t guilt me into saying I will miss every day. You can try, but I won’t go back there. If I have another child, I’ll allow myself to shut down and shut out sometimes. I won’t feel bad that I am feeling exhausted, strung out, freaked out. I won’t cradle a screaming baby (because all babies scream for no freaking reason sometimes, even the perfect ones) and will myself to enjoy this moment because one day I may regret it. I won’t regret not having been perfectly “in the moment” in that tough moment.
Baby, I can believe that you’re one. I will not promise not to cry when I see a photo of how small you were 6 months ago, 6 days ago or even 6 hours ago (how can someone change so much after a single nap?!). I do promise to do my best and not bully myself (or let someone or some advertisement bully me) into thinking that I should have regrets about letting time march on. That I should regret not holding on hard enough. Time marches on. That’s what time does.
