Miles was snuggling me in my lap this morning and I put my nose into his hair to kiss him on the top of the head. He's always had a really kissable head. I was shocked to find no sweet baby smell, but instead the smell of sweat and dirt little boy. The texture is changing too. It's not nearly as soft and baby fine. It's becoming coarser and thicker.
He put on a pair of pajamas last night and his little belly was sticking out and the shirt and pant cuffs were both far to short. I had to buy him new shoes, size 10, a few weeks ago. The potty accidents are so few and far between that I can hardly remember the last one.
He picks out his clothes and dresses himself every day. He helps me make lunch and empty the dishwasher. He's been enrolled in nursery school this fall.
Miles is growing up.
All these changes have happened right under my nose. It's easy to think he's growing up too fast when the truth is he's just plain growing up at the normal rate.
It's hard to feel nostalgic about some of these things. I love that he uses the toilet almost regularly, that he can dress himself, that he can make decisions. It is nice having my body to myself.
And yet I long for the days of sweetly scented, super soft hair, of tiny crib shoes and toothless smiles. First laughs and first words and first steps. Nursing my baby until he falls into a sated, milky doze. The weight of my babies when they fall asleep on my chest while being rocked; the super sweaty naps that follow.
I'm not sure I'm ready to be done with all of that. I yearn for more firsts, more sweetness, more sweaty naps. Even as I rejoice watching my children grow and change and become people with personalities and opinions, I mourn the babies they once were, and the ones I may never have.
Will I get over this?