He's gained 4 lbs in eight weeks, a clothes size in a semester and now he carries on conversations about girls? tatoos? hunting? I don't know, but his chatter ceases only when he slumbers.
His little hands grow chubbier by the day. At birth, he would cast spells with his arms, waving them like a manic Harry Potter. Now he's more of a praying man with hands clasped and fingers intertwined. It's like he's pleading for religious education. And as the poor parents we are, we haven't baptized him yet... but that's an entirely different blog post.
Cole has grown accustomed to a bedtime routine which includes, in this order: a bath, half a feeding, a diaper change and swaddle wrapping, and finally the feeding's other half where upon my lap, he snuggles into soft, sweet slumber. Length of sleep depends on location. The automatic swing is his favorite, but its pendulum back-and-forth is a constant reminder: the clock is ticking and he won't stay small forever.
Christmas shopping in a department store, the newborn clothes struck me. My child was once that small. And not that long ago.
While I celebrate his newness and growth and changes and challenges, I also mourn his lasts... the last time he wore an outfit, the last pimple of baby acne or the last time his wizarding hands waved their magic wand.
A National Geographic program on developing babies said: as infants grow, they lose abilities while gaining others. Take sight, for example. A young baby can look at a scrambled picture of a mother's eyes, ears and nose, but still recognize her face. An older baby cannot, but an older baby can see shapes and objects more clearly. The benefit of the new ability outweighs the loss of the old one. That's what I tell myself too.
I already miss "newborn Cole" but as we bid him farewell, I have the benefit of making "new Cole's" acquaintance.
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| Thanks to Mariah from Thirty Mile Photography for this image. |
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