I loved Owl’s babyhood, despite the colic, but in recent years I haven’t been able to remember WHY.
I would look at him pulling on his own pants and putting dishes in the sink for me, I’d wonder why on Earth I had ever thought that babyhood was so great.
Some parents may sometimes wish that their children were babies again but I didn’t get that feeling. I loved watching him grow.
Wishing Owl back into a baby would mean undoing the person that he is now, not to mention bringing me back into the world of diapers and 2 am breastfeeding.
And yet, when Owl was a baby I used to cuddle him and I had felt that I definitely wanted to do this again.
So I did it again, even though I couldn’t remember why.
I did it even though I was dreading going back four years and starting all over again.
I did for the same reason my husband agreed to it, even though he did NOT love Owl’s babyhood and was dreading a baby much more than I was: because while we didn’t really want to go through another babyhood, we did want a second CHILD.
And there were parts I was looking forward to again – I did look forward to the tiny outfits and a child too young to talk back to me, or to run headlong into me from behind, nearly knocking me down the stairs.
There was so much I had forgotten:
The tiny little panting noises that babies make. God, those are cute. It’s like holding a very tiny, floppy puppy.
The way babies stare off into space with one side of their lower lip drooping more than the other. It’s so adorably derpy that I can’t even.
How hilarious it is when they get mad and do a really angry pout over absolutely nothing of consequence.
The cute little “ah” noises they make in that tiny little voice.
The way the skin on the back of the head moves around all loose and soft like that of a rotten peach (I love it, I don’t know why, I just do).
How it feels to cuddle your child close and have them snuggle into you, instead of having them say “waaaaaaa-BASH!” and pretend to smash their car into your skull.
Those first smiles which are full of such pure and instant joy.
The other crazy derpy faces that they make.
Basically, I had forgotten the cuteness of a child who CAN’T pull up their own pants or put dishes in the sink – the sheer adorableness of a tiny person who has no idea what is going on and whose thoughts are so simple that they are probably best articulated with non-sentences like “wut do?” or “how be?”
Fritter will get older, and she’ll start to understand what on earth is going on, and she will make me proud by learning words and achieving milestones and become more and more self sufficient, and maybe I won’t miss this stage.
But right now I’m glad she’s a tiny, soft, confused, derpy baby.
Who, by the way, sometimes sleeps through the night.