If you haven’t seen the video of sweet Indigo, whose mom and dad videoed him at least once every day of his first year of life, watch it. But not before acquiring a box of tissues, or better still, a bucket. Because I could’ve filled one with how much I sobbed seeing it for the first time (and I’ve been too scared of dehydration to watch it a second time).
Everybody says they grow so fast, so I won’t say that. And many folks are equally guilty of charging parents to cherish every moment, so I definitely won’t say that (I’m a bigger fan of the much more reasonable goal of cherishing little moments every day). But what I told my husband last night after watching this heartachingly lovely little film was that it doesn’t seem possible to appreciate our daughter enough.
We love watching her grow and learn and are beyond excited to meet who she grows up to be, but I can’t help but feel like there are things we’ve loved about her that we’ll never get back. Her dark, alien-big eyes taking in everything her first few weeks of life. Her first squeals of delight. Sleepy cuddles in the middle of the day (and the middle of the night). Her mad little legs and arms kicking and flailing in excitement in her sleep sack when we got her up in the morning. Watching her meticulously pull all of the books off of her bookshelf, stack and sort and giggle over an inside joke with Little Critter. Just, her littleness. Her newness.
Miss E is our first baby, and I hope she won’t be our last. I still have ahead of me, fingers crossed, all of the trembling delights of the first year of life. But I’ll never have them with her again. And it breaks my heart as much as it thrills me to have the privilege of sharing another year of adventure with her. I wrote shortly after she was born that her existence was overwhelming. It still is. It always will be. I just want to scoop her up and kiss her silly while I still can.
But I can’t promise I won’t try it again when she graduates from Starfleet.