February 2, 2013
Forrest is 10 weeks old today. He already fits into his 6mo. clothes and it feels so odd to be watching him grow and mature before my very eyes. Sometimes I want to mush his little head and legs together - a ghastly, halfhearted attempt to keep him tiny and fresh and new. Then other days I can't wait until he crawls and runs. I have visions of his cheeky grin looking back at me as he races to the school bus with some adorable backpack on that will inevitably cover the majority of his body.
I never knew how in love with him I would be. I mean, they tell you. But how can you describe the constricting, seething mass of pulsing blood in your heart that threatens to explode all over the place if you loved anything even just one iota more? It hurts. This kind of love actually hurts. And it feels so good at the same time that I'm sur e I may never stop crying or smiling for pure joy.
And to think I didn't know if I wanted him. Forrest was a surprise. It could have come at a much worse time. We'd been married for 5 and a half years. We were stable financially, physically, emotionally. I just didn't think I wanted it yet. Didn't think i was selfless enough yet. Didn't want to have to give anything up yet. I look around at our once neat as a pin house, now cluttered with any number of garishly bright and indefatigably loud baby contraptions, and smile so happily. For all the fear and uncertainty, anxiety and frustration my heart has never felt so full or so happy. With his little webbed toes, crazy baby acne, nonexistent eyebrows, and amazing mullet, he is so undeniably perfect. He is the most gorgeous miniature human. And we made him. He is ours. He is real.
No comments:
Post a Comment