THE PROBLEM WITH TEN MONTHS

this morning as we nursed in bed snuggled up together, his arm squeezing mine as i hoped to find another hour of sleep hidden under my pillow, i realized my huckleberry was staring at me.

sometimes through the sweet chub on his face i catch a quick glimpse of his budding jawline and the sweet little boy he's becoming. sometimes he'll flash me a look, a look like he is in there--this boy in this baby body--this look like babyhood is almost over and this baby body is not always going to be a baby body and these mornings won't stick around forever.

i'm still convinced that one of these days i'll find the button that will magically turn him back to three days old. three days was my favorite. i loved three days because three days moved so terribly awkwardly, like a baby t-rex in slow motion.

i loved the scrunched little face and the head of dark hair and the soft little wail when three days cried.

i loved when three days woke from a cat naps and grunted at me. i'd lift him up, my hands on his ribs and my fingers supporting his wrinkled little head, and then he'd reach his skinny little arms to the sky and scrunch his bony little knees up to his chest and yawn his three days yawn and wrinkle his three days face as he enjoyed the end of his three days stretch.

oh my gosh i would give anything for three days again. anything in the world.

this is not to say that ten months does not have its charms.

ten months does not spit up, have terrifying mustardy blow outs, or have healing circumcisions to worry around during diaper changes. there are no umbilical cord stumps, soft spots are fairly hard now, and bumps and bruises are part of the game and worn like a badge of honor. "see this? i'm crawling!" is what ten months says.

ten months mainlines cheerios like an addict, takes sips from straws and looks up at you with the cheesiest smiles, takes more-or-less regular naps, and even is sometimes patient while you "run in real quick i just want to see something" five times in an afternoon outing.

but the problem with ten months is that ten months is not three days.
ten months comes with wanting to get down and explore instead of never-ending cuddles.

and after ten months comes eleven months,
and i simply cannot stand for the nonsense of eleven months.
ten months, okay. we've made a conciliatory peace.
eleven months? don't push your luck, bucko.

i hate to let him grow up.
but the older he gets, the better i know him.
and he's a pretty cool cat, it turns out.
so i suppose i will let him just the same.