Poor Sasha. I think she expected her first taste of cereal and applesauce to be much more thrilling. She's almost 7 months old now. The time has crept up on me. How can this be happening? When she has the ability to stop time, with her first smile, her first roll, her first time sitting up? Who is this toe mouthing, "da-da" repeating, chubby legged, dough-y knuckled doll looking up at me?
Really wasn't that taken just yesterday?
I hope I never forget the way she imitates my mouth moving or my eyes blinking. I hope I'll always be able to picture her with her whole fist in her mouth. I hope the memory of my nose against the back of her downy, scrunchy neck never fades away. Nor the sweet, sweet smell of her soft, perfectly round head.
I have already packed away some of her things... so tiny and perfect.
And I know that before long she will be running away from me, giggling and needing me less. Yes, the very same screaming, colicky, wonder-eyed, toothless, bundled child from yesterday.
To quote Anna Quindlen, "I want to throw the lariat of my love and my arms around her and say: Stay still."