I'm not much of a cryer, but I cried today. Twice actually, the second as I write this.
I remember in the beginning I wished for the infant stage to be over with. Colic ran my life, and sleep depravation consumed me. I couldn't wait until solids, crawling and a little independence. This little meatball was testing every fiber of my being, I was ready for the next stage. Well here we are...
This weekend was a weekend of firsts.
She's crawling now, I mean really crawling. Her world has grown, and she's into everything.
She cut her first tooth, not good news for my boobs, though I wouldn't have it any other way.
She pulled herself up in her crib, so my husband lowered the crib.
We went to the park to enjoy what was left of our weekend. I watched as she crawled/scooted around, picking up this leaf and that. Carefully studying the little treasures she'd find. Everything was new, everything was magic. On our way home she quietly fell asleep, heavy against my chest, snug in her sling. I laid her down in her crib, her crib that once held her tiny swaddled self, the crib I slept in as a child. As the last of the sunlight crept behind the hills, I looked down at the not so tiny creature I created, and cried.
I cried because I realized this was it. This is the feeling... this is why mothers have tears in their eyes as their once babies walk, run, drive, graduate, marry, and have babies of their own.
Make that 3 times I've cried today.