Driving home from a visit to Granny’s yesterday I was singing to Jacob. He was sitting in the backseat watching the scenery go by. Content and sweet. As I looked in the rear-view mirror and watched him gaze outside the window with wonder, it hit me, I love him so much.
I’ve had those moments more than a few times since he’s been born. A rush of emotion, a rush of love, flooding my senses and completely overwhelming me.
I whisper his name and watch his head turn towards me. He arches his back to get a look at mummy in the front seat. Then I say “Hi!” and giggle. And he giggles with delight, like I’m the funniest person in the world. We continue this game for the rest of the drive. By the time we’re turning on our street he has the hiccups from laughing so much. And I have tears in my eyes from the joy I get from his simple little laugh.
Some days I find myself wishing the minutes away to his next nap so I can have some rest or get things done. But in the moments that I’m filled with love for him, I suddenly regret all the minutes I wished time away. I realize I’m being selfish in those moments. I can’t help it. I’m human. I enjoy me time.
So when I find myself overwhelmed with love for him during car rides or rocking him to sleep, I take every second in. I remind myself how quickly this will pass. How I’ll look back on these days when he’s a teenager who no longer lets me stroke his hair or lick my finger and wipe a crumb from his face. One day, he’ll no longer cry for me in the night. He’ll no longer crave to lay his little head in the crook of my neck. He’ll no longer think I’m the funniest person in the world, instead he’ll think I’m the most embarrassing.
So today and every day, I’m going to take it all in. Try and etch every expression on his face into my memory, especially the ones when his face lights up as I walk into the room.