My youngest is not an easy baby. She
came into this world early, and instead of spending those first few days
snuggling with her, I whispered to her over the beeps of her many NICU
monitors, pumped around the clock in her sterile hospital room, and struggled
to hold her despite the many tubes and wires sustaining her tiny body. She has
reflux and colic and cries more than any baby I’ve ever known. She nurses
incessantly then spits up most of her feedings. She doesn’t smile or play like
other babies her age because of her prematurity.
The challenge of the past twelve weeks
has been overwhelming and exhausting. At times like this, it can be hard to
find the goodness in life, but as a mom to four children, I know a secret: It
won’t always be this way.
Someday she won’t snuggle against my
stomach for a peaceful nap after nursing.
Someday I won’t be able to strap her to
my chest while we shop.
Someday her cries won’t remind me of a
bleating sheep.
Someday she’ll talk instead of coo.
Someday she won’t need me to hold her
all day.
Someday she’ll stop pooping so loudly
she wakes herself from a deep sleep.
Someday she won’t let me kiss her tummy
after every diaper change.
Someday she’ll be too big to squeeze
inside my coat on cold mornings at the bus stop.
Someday she won’t let me kiss the top of
her head and breathe in her perfect baby scent. Someday she won’t even have
that perfect baby scent.
Someday she’ll outgrow her miniature
baby tub. Someday she’ll outgrow baths altogether.
Someday I’ll nervously wait for her to
return home late at night instead of rocking in a dark nursery with her.
Someday her hair won’t rest smoothly
across her tiny head like the fuzz on a peach.
Someday her cries will be less frequent
but harder to soothe.
Someday she’ll insist I sing the same
song fourteen times in a row. Someday she won’t let me sing to her at all.
Someday these tiny moments will be
distant memories I’ll recall with a smile and a tear as I flip through photo
albums.
I refuse to wait until that day to treasure
these precious moments. When it’s three a.m. and I’m covered in spit-up, pacing
the room with a screaming baby and counting the minutes until the other kids
wake for the day, it’s hard to appreciate the moment. So I take a deep breath,
kiss that sweet baby’s head, and remind myself that someday, I’ll miss this
day.
