A couple of times this past week, I was reminded to slow down and enjoy time with the little berry before she’s all grown up.
I would be keeping the laundry and then I’d catch a glimpse of the little berry in her bebepod seat, patiently waiting for me, and I would wonder, wouldn’t she be much happier if I were playing with her instead?
Or when I’m cooking and she’s playing on her own in the play pen, the thought would hit me: wouldn’t she prefer to roam the place on all fours, or read a book with me?
I guess I’m missing the infant stage of the little berry. How we had wished for it to pass quickly, for her to be a little more grown up so it would be easier to take care of her. Sometimes I still wish so, especially during those nights of frequent wakings. But now that I’m standing at the 8th month mark, I wish I had slowed down to really take her in, while she was still tiny.
Perhaps this is the irony of motherhood… I want her to fit into my arms without squirreling away, yet I wonder how I can survive if I were to do it all over again.