I remember when M was a baby wondering where the time went to, only to realise that those ten minutes I’d been lying watching my son had rather spanned out into hours. By the time M was a few short months old, his portrait collection spanned into the thousands – months later T’s numbers still haven’t caught up. I’m not worried about that…in 20 years are they really going to notice which one has the most baby photos! I do worry though that I’m missing out with T moments that I cherished with M. Do I spend as many minutes as I once lost into hours staring at, connecting with my youngest?
This morning, whilst Baba and M slept on, I crept downstairs with Tiny T and lay on the rug and watched him try so hard to crawl…bum up, toes pointed, back straight and …. Hop! Niftily thrusting himself forward a half-meter he scooted his body up close to my spot. I love you Mum, his dribble grin exclaimed. I scooped him onto me, allowed little fingers to explore my face and my hair, tinier toes to dig into my belly and I listened to his monologue gurgles. Later on, after M’s “egge”, leaving washing hanging out on the line and pausing every now and then for me to sniff sun-roasted toddler and baby, the most evocative of child-given scents, the boys and I made the two kilometre skip into the town along a country route where the lack of “atiiii”able puddles belied the calendars months. later, an Aya Sofia grass exploration behind us, I placed them outside to stay quiet while I got on with some stuff. Two minutes in, M began to chatter, followed by a giggle from T. I put down the knife, and stood silently by, watching smiles and explorations of the most precious kind. carrot chopping can wait. This time I will appreciate time.