It was 6 am, last Saturday morning, when I rocked Quinn back to sleep, in her room, while nursing her. Her room is the most beautiful room in the house in the morning. It’s one of the only rooms with an east side window. It was quiet as everyone else was sleeping. The soft sunlight in her room, combined with the sound of ocean waves coming from her sound machine, was so tranquil. And instead of impatiently counting the minutes, like I so often do, I just stared at her.
She’s so big. When did she get so big? Her legs are hanging off my lap. And then it hit me…this could be the last time I have this moment. Okay, so maybe this time won’t be the last. She’s not quite ready to let go of the boob, yet. But I am trying to ween her and when the last time does come, I may not even realize it was the last. I get sad. It’s all such a blur. The time is flying by and before I know it she will be turning a year old. Thinking back, I barely remember our first days and weeks together. I know that’s normal, but it’s heartbreaking. I want to take time more often to remember these moments.
So, I took a picture. (Well, I took like a dozen. Let’s face it- it takes at least that many before getting one good enough to keep). Then, I stayed and rocked her a little longer. With my eyes closed, I sniffed her and listened to her breathing.
I cherished that moment. One I hope to never forget.