I've been trying to keep this little baby from growing and getting older. I've tried SO HARD, but time insists on moving and I have so little control over it. He is now 9 months old, longer out than he was in... Crawling everywhere, babbling, eating his cheerios and anything else within reach. I am absolutely certain that he is our last, we are done, we are complete, my dinner table is full. I had no problem giving away all my maternity clothes. I gave away the co-sleeper that held all four of my newborns. But I keep holding on to stuff... not because I want another baby but because I don't want him to stop being one. The swing he never sleeps in still takes up space in my kitchen. He's STILL in the car seat carrier even though it kills me picking it up (he is smaller than most 9 month olds though). I just want to freeze time... hold him where he is... he is so happy, so content, so full of joy. It is impossible to look at him and not smile. Impossible. I just don't want this stage to end.
His 9 month check up went well. He's back on the growth charts, albeit barely, and is a whopping 16 pounds, 5 ounces. 27 inches long. He's gained and is clearly healthy and his pediatrician is happy. He gets three meals a day now, including his yogurt lunch, and although we still nurse four times a day I can feel it starting to peter out. It's supposed to... and yet I want to hold on. I have always cut down on nursing at a year old and just done the wake-up and bedtime feedings with cows milk in between. I have all of these running plans... and yet... I just want to hold on. He's my last.
A few weeks ago I said that after having the kids home for spring break I was ready for them to be home for summer and I meant it. Naturally people laughed and didn't quite understand why. I'm not saying that everything is blissfully happy all the time--it's not--but I really do just want them home with me. If for no other reason than that I am painfully aware of the passage of time.