Norah is officially three months old as of last Saturday.
This is the age when you look at your baby and think about how much she’s grown in a few short months. Holding her head up. Following us with her eyes. Sleeping for more than two hours without needing something to eat. Unfurling her clinched fists.
She’s such a different baby than the one I brought home in May.
It’s an odd feeling this time around, knowing she is probably my last. It feels weird to leave certain ages and stages behind. I’m reading some Anne Lamott these days, and I ran across something yesterday that made me smile and nod my head and breathe a little easier with these changes.
“Here is my theory: I’m all the ages I’ve ever been. You realize this at some point about your child — even when your kid is sixteen, you can see all the ages in him, the baby wrapped up like a burrito, the one-year-old about to walk, the four-year-old napping, the ten-year-old on a trampoline.
“[…] So how can I be represented by a snapshot, or any one specific age? Isn’t the truth that this me is subsumed into all the me’s I already have been, and will be?” — Anne Lamott, “A Field Theory of Beauty”
Happy Monday, friends. Hope it’s a good week ahead.