Mourning

On Monday night, Mike & I finally did something I had been dreading: we packed up all of MJ's newborn outfits, carefully folded them, and packed them away. It was the hardest moment of her life thus far, for us. I realize this sounds a bit dramatic, but even my 6'4", 180 lb husband was sitting on the floor with tears in his eyes as he said, "she'll never wear any of these things again. This is probably one of the worst things you've ever made me do." He tenderly fingered tiny lace collars and gazed at ruffled sleepers and sighed. "I don't think we can do it."
"Do what?" I asked.
"Have any more."
"What do you mean by that?" I was wondering why in the world he could be thinking about future children . . . after all; MJ was only seven weeks old.
"You have half my heart, and she has the other. What more do I have to give?"
Then we both cried.

It's a strange thing, to be both overjoyed at her growth and achievement of those precious milestones and incredibly saddened that she'll never have those firsts again. Her once long, skinny legs are now filling out in chunks and rolls, and her little chin, once so pointed, is now multiple chins that catch her daily drools. Her little grunts are becoming coos and babbles, and those birth-gray eyes are now a startling bright blue. How much she has changed in such a short time.

Our time with her really is so short. We talked about how quickly it has been passing, and suddenly were imagining returning home from dropping her off at college to stare at her empty bedroom. More tears. We're not only mourning what has passed, but what we know will pass, and we're already aching missing her.

If I've learned nothing else, it's to savor every moment, even the ones in which I think I'm going to pull my hair out if she cries for another second, or when her baby vomit soaks my shirts, or when she impresses me once again with the incredible volume of seedy poo she produces in (and out) of those diapers.

So we say goodbye to those newborn outfits and pack them away, perhaps for a baby sister, or just maybe her own little girl, to wear, and we pull out the 3-month sized onesies, sleepers, and dresses, all the while looking forward to the new milestones she will achieve as the plumper, noisier, and much different baby those outfits represent.

I will miss that tiny little head sleeping on my shoulder for hours on end, but I'm excited for the girl that can finally soothe herself to sleep, and mourn the time I've already lost, while celebrating the many years of joy we have left.

What a precious gift she is.