You'll Always Be My Baby

Don't laugh, but David and I have been lamenting the fact that Isaac doesn't seem like a baby anymore.  I know, he's only eight months old.  But Isaac's getting more and more independent, and as amazing as it is to see him grow up and develop, it feels a little bittersweet when, say, he doesn't really like to be held anymore.  It almost seems ludicrous to hold and rock him like a baby--look how big he is!

He's obviously not to thrilled to be in Mama's arms either.  Look at that expression; it generally precedes a bunch of squirming and twisting so that he can get on the floor and explore.

But that very night, I was pleasantly surprised when Isaac decided that cuddling with Mama might not be the worst thing ever--especially when she has fun hair to grab and pull! 

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Sandra Cisneros has this great story called "Eleven" (I promise, adoring fans in Texas, this will relate to Isaac), in which the young girl protagonist explains that "when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one."  It's a sad story from the girl's perspective--she wants to feel like she's growing up but instead is treated like a little kid--but from a parent's perspective I really appreciate the idea.  In some ways, Isaac will always be my little one-week old, who gazed up at me with wide eyes and softly, questioningly grunted for more milk.  He'll always be my four-month old who refused to nap except on my lap or Daddy's.  And I'm sure in a few months from now--let along decades from now--he's still be my sweet little eight-month old who's so eager for independence but crawls after me the second I leave his sight.  And there's something really comforting in that idea.