Last night, I got one of those huge plastic lidded boxes so I can re-organize Gabby’s chest; he has accumulated a lot of clothing, and the chest is filled to bursting already. I decided to remove the clothes he has outgrown and keep them in the box, for use of any future sibling(s).
As I was moving and removing his old clothes (and I mean old, as in a year old), I smelled them, to see if they needed rewashing before being put in storage. His old clothes smelled nice and fresh, with a hint of milk. Like a newborn baby. One whiff and I was whisked back in time one and a half year ago, back when I was a newly-minted mom.
The thing which all parents have all been saying, and which I’ve already said a lot of times, hit me again: children really grow up so fast. One minute, he is this helpless-looking little thing, who can barely lift his head; next minute he’s turning over all by himself, then sitting up on his own, and learning to stand up all by himself, without any help. Pretty soon they are running around and jumping up and down all over the house, pretty much like Little Nutbrown Hare. Babies are magical, and their acquisition of skills, sometimes done all by their lonesome, is amazing. Whenever my Gabby learns a new skill, I get so happy and feel so proud, even though a lot of times all credit really goes to him because he learned those skills with hardly any assistance from me. And yet, coupled with that parental pride is a sort of sadness, for he is growing up so fast and I have a sense that I can’t keep up.