You are two months old. Two months!
It seems like only yesterday that you were movements inside of me and a fuzzy, myopic blur on those ultrasounds that occurred with increasing regularity as my pregnancy progressed. It seems like minutes ago that you were born, cold and howling or wide-eyed with shock. I remember those moments and they take my breath away because I would give almost anything to have that first morning again. And now you are two months old.
I think sometimes that I would have appreciated you more on that first morning had I known you then as I know you now; I would have found the tinyness of your fingers and toes more marvelous, your mewling newborn cries more captivating, those first moments more wondrous and more special. I look at those first pictures now and they take my breath away.
Embla, you were so tiny then. The size differential between you and your sister was striking; you looked like a fairy child, an impossible child. The midwives all paid a little more attention to you, they found it strange that a baby so late should be so small, but I wasn’t worried; you come from a long line of microhumans. Of course you were small. But over the last two months you have almost caught up with your sister and the weight difference between the two of you is merely ounces.
You are such a funny, snorty, snuffly little thing. There is nothing delicate or graceful about you and you have earnt the nickname ‘Pig’ from the way that you vacuum down your milk – gone in minutes! – and your habit of dribbling half of it down your neck. It makes me laugh when I pick you up and you stare at me incredulously, your eyes full-moon wide, before you thrust your entire self back towards your mama. You give me the best smiles when you are tucked up in her wrap, turtling your head out to see who has just come through the door. Our little Em, you are so sweet.
Olympia, my little Polly, you make me feel like the mother I wanted to be. You make it easy. On the evening of your first smile I practically crawled through the door, I was so tired, but you saw me and you lit up in a big, toothless grin as though I had made your day just by being in it, and somehow I forgot about the exhaustion and was absorbed in you. Every night, you sleep with your face tucked under my chin, and I am lulled to sleep by the baby-fresh smell of your hair and the feel of your warm breath on my neck.
You would be the perfect last baby if you were my last baby, my little end-on-a-high. All of my life I wanted a ‘handbag baby’, a little go-where-I-go baby, and when I am home you come everywhere with me.
My girls, this month heralds the end of your ‘fourth trimester’. And oh, how I laughed when I first heard that phrase, all those months ago. But I am relishing this first quarter-year of your lives; your sweet newborn phase, the gentle awakening, the slow unfurling of your personalities. And as much as I am enjoying getting to know you, I am not quite ready for you to stop being my newborns just yet.
You are such happy babies. You eat well, sleep well. You meet new people easily and whilst you don’t always charm the pants off of them (yet) you don’t howl at them either. We are confident to take you out and about and we are able to enjoy your company wherever we might be. You are making this easy. You are making this fun.
And we love you. We love you so very much.
Thank you for being you. Grow slowly.
Your mummy. x