In Pursuit of Time

"How old is she?" someone asks, the question that inevitably follows Bella wooing any stranger with her giddy, playful smiley conversation. "Two months." A reluctant sigh simultaneously escapes my mouth. "Almost three months," Dave says proudly. He's quick to correct me, like a child who knows just how important those extra few weeks are. I finally concede to two-and-a-half months. Like a mother who knows just how important those extra few weeks are.

Every time I put Bella's laundry away, I have to push aside the clothes that are too small and squish in the larger sizes that I reluctantly keep adding. I can't bring myself to put the smaller clothes away just yet. I can't admit to myself how much she has grown. In my mind, if I start putting those clothes into storage, I'll wake up tomorrow morning and my baby will be a toddler.

I always carry Isabelle in my wrap and the closeness is good for us both. She's been in a stroller once in her life, and she was asleep the whole time. High up in her wrap, Isabelle is very visible to everyone and I enjoy sharing her with people. A young baby brings joy to any stranger's eyes. It's the soft look on the faces of other mothers, though, that reminds me how quickly today will become yesterday. Bella and I haven't argued yet, haven't held a grudge, haven't had a day that we'd like to forget. The mothers tell me, beg me, to enjoy every moment of it. Then comes the dreaded phrase, "It goes by so fast."

I can hardly remember my pregnancy with Bella, and it definitely did not go by fast. When I smell the lotion I used all that winter, I can vaguely recall the belly, the kicks, and the hiccups that kept me awake at night. I won't use the lotion for anything else for fear its scent will no longer bring back that feeling of contentment and mystery of living day in and day out with a perfect being I have never met. I don't want to have such a wistful recollection of Isabelle's nursing days. I want to ingrain every moment solidly in my mind. The way her eyes drift about peacefully as she scans the room, full of thoughts no one will ever know. The way she holds my finger with her top hand, and rhythmically kneads my side with the other. I enjoy every moment of every day and wish Bella could stay like this forever. I know I'll enjoy watching her grow up, but it's today that I can't imagine life getting any better. Never in my life have I lived so much in the present as now. If only those moms could know just how much I appreciate what I have.