THE PROBLEM WITH TEN MONTHS

this morning as we nursed in bed, snuggled up together, his arm squeezing mine as i hoped desperately to find another hour of sleep hidden under my pillow, i realized my huckleberry was staring at me.

sometimes through the sweet chub on his face i catch a glimpse of his budding jawline and the heart-breakingly sweet little boy he's becoming. sometimes he'll flash me a look, a look like he is in there--this boy in this baby body--this look like he is warning me that it's coming to a close, and this baby body is not going to be a baby body anymore pretty soon, so keep an eye out mom, these mornings won't stick.

and still i'm fairly convinced that one of these days i'll find the button that will magically turn him back to three days. oh but three days was my favorite. i love three days because three days moves so terribly and delightfully awkward, like a baby t-rex in slow motion.

and oh how i love the scrunched little face and head of dark hair and the soft little wail when three days cried.

i loved when three days would wake from a cat nap and grunt at me and i'd go get him. i'd lift him up, my hands against his little ribs and my fingers supporting his wrinkled little noggin, and then he'd reach his skinny little arms to the sky and scrunch his bony little knees up to his chest and yawn his three days yawn and then twist his face up all funny as he enjoyed the end of his three days stretch.

oh my gosh i would give anything for three days again. anything in the world. 

this is not to say that ten months does not have its charms.

ten months does not spit up, have terrifying mustardy blow outs, or have healing circumcisions to scare the dickens out of you during diaper changes. there are no umbilical cord stumps to be careful around, soft spots are fairly hard now, and bumps and bruises are part of the game and worn like a badge of honor. "see this? i'm crawling!" is what ten months says.

ten months mainlines cheerios like an addict, takes sips from straws and looks up at you with the purest kind of pride beaming from his face, takes more-or-less regular naps, and even is sometimes patient while you "run in real quick i just want to see something" five times in an afternoon outing.

but the problem with ten months? the problem with ten months is that ten months is terribly far away from three days.
the problem with ten months is that ten months comes with wanting to get down and explore instead of never-ending mama cuddles.
the problem with ten months is that after ten months comes eleven months, and i simply cannot stand for the nonsense of eleven months.

ten months, okay. we've made a conciliatory peace.
eleven months? don't push your luck, bucko.

i don't want him to grow up at all, i don't i don't i don't.
but what always surprises me as he grows up all the same is that he is still my huckleberry. he might not be three days huckleberry and he might not be ten months huckleberry, but he is always still my huckleberry. and he's a pretty cool cat, it turns out.

i don't want him to grow up at all.
but i suppose i will let him just the same.