In the Moment

Dear Brixton,

I'm trying to write this while balancing your squirm-worm body on my legs.  I'm watching you watch me, your tiny sushi tongue sticking out, your arms flying awkwardly out in a very sieg heil kind of way.  I can't believe you are 7 weeks old, but at the same time, I can.  I guess what's unbelievable is how seamlessly you have transitioned into our lives, how the period of "there's a baby in the house and he's ours" was so fleeting, how I've gone 50 nights now with interrupted sleep and how I've been latching a pump onto my bosom every day to make you food.  And we've all survived.

Papa and I have been arguing a lot and I hope you don't think it's your fault.  We have so much going on right now with Papa's work and money and finding our place in the world.  It's really hard right now, but we are making it work.  Don't worry little friend, your life won't consist of visitation schedules and wondering what could have been.  

Mostly, Papa and I dream about you.  Dream about what we want to do with you in the future.  Things like camping, beach vacations, hiking, planting seeds, catching fireflies in Ball jars on steamy summer nights.  I try to not think about these things though, I try to not wish you any older.  I'm trying to love you now, as a little 7 week old boy, with big blue eyes, a gummy smile, pouty lips, an awkward hairline and a tongue that just won't stop poking out.  I'm trying to bottle your moments up, because soon enough you'll be asking for a sippy cup of milk, a new video game,  the keys to the car. (No.  The answer is already no).   

  Soon enough that pokey tongue will speak, the gummy smile will be full of teeth and those pouty lips won't let Mamma kiss them anymore.

That is also a future I try not to think about. 

Love,

Mamma