Today I found a newborn diaper tucked away between the pack-n-play instructions and other random pieces, like a monkey mobile, that I couldn't cram into the carrying bag... so I shoved everything I could in it anyway and sandwiched the remaining stray parts between the velcro handles. And seriously, I cried. I cried not because of that still-in-new-condition-yet-too-small play yard, but I held that tiny little diaper and teared up. And then I went around and showed everyone that would look at me and listen... to which the women responded with an equally pitiful AWWWWWWW, and the men? Well, they just smiled a crooked smile and I'm sure were trying to decipher if I was really going to be okay or not.
The metamorphosis of my little babe into this walking, talking, feeding-himself toddler has been getting the better of me. I was the one that provided sole nourishment, his body falling into a motionless trance save the rhythmic breathing as his chubby little fingers comfortingly paw at my chest, and then comes the pause... the moment he exhales and looks up with lock-eyed gaze to babble something adorable offering a smile as the icebreaker – my favorite. And now? He is wrapping his little fingers tightly around the silver handle of our forks, happily stabbing his food until something sticks and shoveling it up to his toothy smile. Feeding himself.
I think I just started crying again.
For more Wordless/Wordful Wednesday, visit Wordless Wednesday, Supermom, Better in Bulk, Seven Clown Circus, Parenting by Dummies, Project Alicia, Momsense and 5 Minutes for Mom.