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Baby, You Can Take My Time
Lying on my side is no longer comfortable. My back feels like it’s cutting off blood flow, and trying to lie on my stomach? Well, that would be like balancing on a bowling ball. At eight months pregnant, sleepless nights are now filled with dreams about the color of your hair and whether your smile will mirror mine. As the acid in my chest burns, your gentle kicks both startle and soothe me.
It’s alright, little one, you can take my time.
In my arms, nursing every two hours, I stumble with a nipple shield while you scream. Your latch isn’t perfect, and as a first-time mom, I feel like I’m fumbling through the dark. 3 a.m. brings tears and frustration for both of us as we learn this new rhythm of mother and child. Finally, when your tummy is full, you settle in my arms with sleepy smiles. I breathe in your scent and wipe away my tears.
You’re all mine. Baby, you can take my time.
From rocking and crawling to pulling every book off the shelf, you’re a whirlwind of energy. There’s fussing, green purees sliding down your chin, and your face shows complete disgust when they sputter everywhere—on the high chair, on my face, in my hair. I chase you, trying to keep your tiny hands away from danger, and every waking moment is dedicated to you. Even when you sleep, I sneak in to check your face, ensuring you’re warm, because after a long day, it only takes an hour after bedtime for me to miss you.
Sweet baby, you can take my time.
Wobbling, running, and throwing tantrums on the floor, I’m learning to discipline for the first time. We both shed tears as we navigate this new territory of wills. Park swings, merry-go-rounds, cartoons, and digging for worms fill our days. You shower me with kisses, saying “I wuv you, Mommy,” while I lose my voice reading your favorite books. This time is overflowing with joy, and your energy is boundless.
It’s alright, baby, you can take my time.
We face regressions, growing pains, and new transitions. Potty training, vegetable battles, and sleep training require me to lie beside you, waiting for your little heart and mind to settle. I lose myself in watching your perfect little lips and the soft rise and fall of your chest as you sleep. Once my tiny baby, now you’re growing up so fast.
Stay little. Baby, you can take my time.
Backpacks and preschool days arrive. We sit on the floor, me as the voice of the rhino and you as the lion. Each night, I lay out your clothes and peel the crusts off your peanut butter and jelly, just the way you like it. Holding your hand as we stroll down the sidewalk, I learn every little aspect of your personality.
Sweet boy, you’re still my baby, and you can take my time.
Soon enough, it will be tee-ball games, homework, and first crushes. Puberty will bring late-night talks, and I’ll remind you to put on deodorant and to wake up for school. You’ll grow “too cool” for kisses on the lips, and teaching you to drive will be both exciting and nerve-wracking. Eventually, I’ll send you off with a temporary goodbye.
Even then, my baby boy, please always take my time.
You can always and forever take my time.
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In summary, the journey of motherhood is a beautiful dance filled with moments of joy, challenges, and the profound love that grows with each passing day. Cherishing every second, even amidst chaos, is what makes this experience so special.