it feels like the first time.
the first time holding a chubby baby in my arms. rolls and dimples and bits of her last meal hiding in the folds of her neck.
lost in her soft sighs and murmurs, feeling her warmth, her heartbeat. nuzzling her, covering her in noisy kisses. gazing at her baby feet in wonder and utter delight. the way she constantly curls her toes slays me. her sweaty, matted hair when she wakes from a nap, tangled in her blanket.
(really it is the first time because last time there was too much juggling. never a chance to stop and relish anything. i could never stop. two babies always needing, always fussing, always wanting me–but never enough of me to go around)
but Piper…is nearly nine months old. soon she won’t want so much snuggling. she’s off crawling, exploring, chasing her puppy dog’s tail. with her cute tushie up in the air.
i’ve been excited to teach her everything.
but i feel time slipping away.
she’s the last. our last baby.
she’s busy watching her big sisters. clapping her hands, smiling with her bottom two teeth, doing the caterpillar crawl.
i want to hold her close all the time. i can’t get enough.
she holds her own bottle now. soon it will be a sippy cup and she won’t need me for anything.
the time is flying. i am grasping at the hands on the clock of her babyhood and begging them to slow down.
please slow down. for the first and the last.
my first, my last. my last chance at motherhood.