Lately I’m mindful of every quiet moment that ticks by with this sleeping babe-child in my arms.  Partly because I realize more every day how fleeting these baby years are. Partly because it is the most calming, reflective thing, to just sit and rock. 

My sweet Eva is almost one: I can almost hear the bells tolling the end of her babyhood. When we go outside she toddles after the big kids, tripping, wobbly, but so anxious to join in whatever they’re playing at. She’s so eager to laugh with them, and follow in their footsteps. And I love to see her go, even though the other part of me just wants to pick her up and squeeze the baby she still seems to me. I know, this single phase of growing up is not so much in the long run. It’s the first year, after all, not college. And this is ultimately what we want as parents; to watch with delight as they walk and then run,shouting with laughter.

But… it makes me sad and glad, and (so, so, so) sentimental about these quiet baby moments I have left. All soft cheeks and quiet breathing and cozy nap time snuggles. Soon she’ll be bigger. Too soon, she won’t snuggle into my lap for her best naps. There will be toddler angst and funny 4 year old drama and older child discoveries, and I’ll feel this dramatic and nostalgic about any number of passing stages. But for now it’s just babies, and preparing to say goodbye to another darling babyhood. 

I love you, I love you,  I do. From the moment I met you I loved you, it’s true. You are my baby girl with the beautiful gray eyes. I love you, I love you, I do. 

(-unknown. We read it in a poetry book, and didn’t realize it had stuck until we were quoting it every naptime and bedtime with little modifiers. If you know who the original author is, please let me know and I’ll give credit!)