Our baby boy turned four-months-old this week! When I look at his older brother, I know for certain that his growth has and will continue to go fast. And yet, my sleep-deprived brain is conscious of every part of the past four months. It’s as they say: “The days are long, but the years are short.”
My hands are full. My heart is full. The diapers are full (and even overflowing). The bags under my eyes are full (from multiple nighttime wakings — don’t be surprised to see me liking your social media posts at 3:00 a.m. and 5:30 a.m.).
Josiah is full of sweetness. Giving the cutest looks. Often laid back and observing the world. Really only ever fussing when he’s sleepy or in the car seat. Preferring to be held in a standing position or fully reclined, but rarely anything in between. Loving walks outside, his pacifier, and a soft blankie, like his older brother.
My days are full of monotony. Nursing. Burping. Changing. Playing. Rocking. Repeat. And yet, things never seem to go as planned.
My days are full of interruptions. Unsent emails. Partial plans. Unanswered texts. Unfinished books and passages of scripture. (I mean, I altogether missed writing his 3-month update).
But also full of fear that I’ll miss out on these fleeting moments.
My days are full of little joys. To watch him discover his hands. To hear him vocalize every time I ask, “Wanna eat?” To have him nap against my chest. To know he’s healthy. To take him on his first airplane rides. To nuzzle his incredibly soft cheeks. To see him grow in his affection for me and his daddy. To make him laugh with funny noises and thigh squeezes.
Life is full, and I’m grateful.