mrs. big stuff

"early spring" has arrived in missoula and i've been spending my afternoons walking with my little posse - elie and lucy. today we did the downtown loop, taking the river trail home. as i watched the sun sparkle on the clark fork and looked up at the snow slowly melting on mt. sentinel, i passed another new missoula mom on the trail. her little guy was bundled up in the bjorn on her chest. we did the missoula smile and nod. i wasn't too interested in talking because eliana had finally fallen asleep and i didn't want to stop the motion of the stroller to chat. but she started it.
"how old is she?"
"seven months."
"what about him?"
"oh, just seven weeks."
"wow. you know, just like they say, it goes fast. and it's hard to imagine they are ever that little."
"yeah. can i see your little one."

i remove the hood from the carriage revealing a set of luxuriously long lashes folded, a perfect little button in a snowsuit.

"wow. she is big! how big was she at birth?"

clearly this woman has not spent much time with babies. my petit muffin? big?

and then i looked at her from this woman's perspective and remembered all those "big babies" i remember seeing when elie was a brand newborn. babies with dried snot beneath their soft noses (check). babies with crusty food stuck to their faces (check). babies big enough to sleep in a stroller (check).

and i realized, once again, how this is moving too quickly, how she's growing up too fast.

so as i sit here this friday night with a glass of wine, blogging away, whooping it up mommy style - a style that is quiet and introspective, aware and devoted - i'm not thinking of the movie in town i want to see, or the dinner with a girlfriend i had to decline. i think about how, soon enough, she won't need my ear pressed to her nursery door, my breast ready to roll, my heart ready to break into a million pieces because i would do anything to keep her happy and safe. i think about all the children i teach and how, just seven/eight/nine years ago, they were asleep in cribs, crying out in need, desperate and so very dependent and how evolved and bright and aware they are today. and again, i choose instead to cherish this time, to be here now, to try and relish every moment before they melt like the winter snow, like the ice cracking on the sidewalk.