I mentioned in an earlier post that we blinked, and our Homer was six months old. Today, the passage of time is even more acute as I consider where we’ve been and where we are headed. Our baby will be 9 months old in a couple of weeks… that’s 3/4 of a year. Not long after his year birthday celebration, we will be having cake and doing our various donations to celebrate what would have been Rowan’s third birthday. Three years. In the days, weeks, and months following the loss of our Ro, time seemed to stand still. It stood still as we worked toward another chance to conceive through IVF. It stood still as we got the results of a positive blood test after the procedure. It stood still as we slogged through a rainbow pregnancy, anxiously awaiting the long prayed for arrival of our youngest son; those 39 weeks and a few days felt like an eternity.
Then, Homie arrived. And time began to fly…
He could do scarcely more than wiggle around and kick his legs and flap his arms–then suddenly he could walk along furniture, and crawl with shocking baby speed.
He rolled over after much effort and slowly broke his swaddle–then suddenly he could stand in his crib or pack and play, and climb 5 stairs in under a minute.
He slept all the time snuggled up and helpless-baby-like–then he beckoned for play time, and story time, and snuggle time.
He ate baby oatmeal, and baby puree, and sipped warm formula from his bottle–then he rejected the oatmeal, devoured big boy food, and relished drinking from a real cup (put ice in my water, please, Mama!)
He cooed and gurgled and baby-purred–then he babbled dadadada, nananana, mamamama, and shook his head no with determination.
He shied away from bath time in the plastic tub fitted with a baby hammock that provided safety for his weak little body–then he splashed and giggled as he sat up by himself in a warm bath in the kitchen sink…Homie’s hot tub.
He rode in the grocery cart perched in his baby carrier, the kind with the handle that doubles as a car seat and nearly breaks Momma’s back as she totes it around on her forearm–then he craved the big boy seat in the front of the cart, safety belt and all, biting the cart handle and swinging his legs back and forth…car seat totally outgrown.
And those are just a few of the things that come to mind as I sit here typing through the tears that have welled up in my eyes because my precious little bundle of joy is quickly becoming my precious big bundle of joy...
“They” always say to appreciate the time you have while your children are little because it goes too fast. I was hoping that because we have been through so much to get to this point, and time always seems to move so slowly for grieving parents at times, that these precious days, weeks, months, years would move a little more slowly, too.
Sadly, they do not. They pass with uncanny speed. Through tears I say to you, “I so wish they would slow down. I wish we could have them little for just a bit longer, some way, some how.”
Maybe I feel this way because I know Homer will be…not our only child, but our only living child. I’m at peace knowing this; our sweet boy is certainly joy and love and beauty incarnate.
Time moves on.