5:15am again. your mother said you woke her seven times last night. you’ve been doing this thing lately where you roll in place repeatedly like a shrieking rotisserie chicken. sometimes you grasp desperately for mom, but when she holds you close you kick her hard in her stomach, right where they cut her open to pull you out by your legs. we know it’s not your fault though. your first tooth is emerging with brute force and it’s been making sure the whole fam knows.
bro, it’s fucking early. one thing i can say for sure is that i’ve never seen this many sunrises in a single year. as i write this, the deep blue has turned pink and now the palm trees aren’t just silhouettes anymore. this morning, we caught the day break even before the bakery down the street started emitting the scent of sweet dough throughout the neighborhood. barely a car to be heard in LA – you really are full of miracles.
at 9 months, your head rests heavily on my chest and i’m no longer afraid that bouncing you might break you. in fact, you just might break me! this wrap i’ve been carrying you around in – the one i’ve circled the block with you so many afternoons – i dread when you don’t fit in it anymore. i know it’s coming soon. one day, your sausagey calves won’t be able to squeeze through the loops. or my back will whimper about one ounce too many. or you’ll demand that i stop carrying you, and you’ll say it in a complete sentence. either way, i’ll probably cry like a baby.
they say you’ll never get this time back, and i believe it because it’s already been a blur ever since two decembers ago in d.c. when i ran to the cvs to pick up that pregnancy test. i can’t even recall how many times i swore i’d commit something to memory, they all seem like bad imitations of my phone’s chaotic camera roll, or they’ve already evaporated. so i’ll savor every moment i can get, even these hours of lost sleep.