All I can do is hold you tight

Your baby blues
So full of wonder
Your curlicues
Your contagious smile
And as I watch
You start to grow up
All I can do is hold you tight

Months before Emilia was born I chose a special song for her: Plumb’s “In My Arms”. I put a copy on my mp3 player, which I packed well in advance along with my clock radio (for its mp3 port and speakers), and asked Martin to have it playing while I held her for the first time. That night in the hospital, we were too awestruck and smitten to remember to follow through, though I’ve played it for her many times since.

Everyone tells you to cherish these moments (whatever they may be at any given point in time) because they’ll be over before you know it. And little by little I’ve come to realize just how right they are. Though I’m her biggest fan and most ardent supporter as nearly every day she demonstrates new skills (rolling, scooting, almost sitting, reaching, grasping, shaking, banging) and delights in familiar songs, games, stories, and routines, I’m also a little sad to acknowledge that she’ll never again wear size 0-3 (or the vast majority of her 3-6 wardrobe either, for that matter) or need to be burped after a feeding. She burps all by herself now, it’s true.

But hardest by far to come to terms with will the introduction of her first solid food (rice cereal) this coming weekend. For 15 months now (nine pre- and six post-natal) all of her nutrition has come through me. I’ve missed my berry blossom white tea (caffeinated) and many a “good” night’s sleep due to nighttime feeds, but not as much as I’ll miss the quiet closeness of nursing when the transition is complete.

It’s inevitable, I know, but it sure isn’t easy. I hope she won’t mind if I compensate with extra hugs!