Time is weird.
In some ways, I feel like this was just yesterday:
I remember being at home alone with Gabe for the first time. He was three days old. Mike was at class and it was just me and this tiny little person. I wasn’t sure what to do with him, exactly, aside from trying to feed him. So I took pictures of him. (I also remember thinking, “Dang. He is actually a cute newborn.” Now, years later, I can see that he was slightly alien-newborn-ish, but I still maintain that he’s one of the not-completely-alien-like newborns.)
Today as I was rocking him before his nap (Yep. I still do that. Just a few songs. Because we both like it.), I was suddenly struck with that strange, “Where did this giant toddler come from?” feeling. He’s half my height now and instead of holding him in my arms, I hold him with my whole body. Legs draped over my legs and making song requests (“Santa Clause is Coming to Town”, anyone?).
I always thought I’d miss the past when it came to Gabe. That I’d long for the days when he was a little plop on the couch that I could hold. That I’d long for his babyhood. But I haven’t. I have an incredible fondness and nostalgia for that time, but I don’t miss it because right now Gabe is so different.
It’s sort of strange, but it’s almost like I had two separate children – baby Gabe and this Gabe. This Gabe that I know so well. Who makes baby Gabe seem like a total stranger. I know that they are the same person but it seems impossible, like a different lifetime. At some point baby Gabe became this Gabe, but I must have missed it. And so, I will keep having those moments of, “Wait. Wasn’t he just so tiny a washcloth could cover his entire body?”
Those times were wonderful and I really do have a fondness for the tiny baby stage. But even more so for this stage where we can go out for ice cream together and collapse into giggles together. This parenting thing can be pretty awesome sometimes.