Thoughts from the comfy chair: He is still a baby

I smiled politely at the woman as I disagreed with her. 

"He isn't a baby anymore, he is a big boy," she said. 

"No," I smiled back at her. "He is still a baby." 

I didn't know the woman, I would have disagreed with her anyway. 

My sweet boy is 15-months-old. In about 12 weeks he will be a big brother and I will have two sweet boys. 

But just because he will be a big brother doesn't mean he isn't a baby. He walks, he feeds himself, he tries to be independent. But he is still a baby. 

I heard him crying this morning at 4 a.m. The house was pitch black. The rain was beating down heavily on the awning outside our windows. I had been awake, exhausted, but unable to sleep due to the many "joys" pregnancy brings. (Restless legs and heartburn anyone?)

I stumbled my way into his room to find my sweet boy sitting up in his bed. His big blue eyes looking up at me. His little arms extended. "I need my mama," his face said. 

When I picked him up he tucked his little knees up under him and curled into a ball on my chest. He let out a little sigh. I pressed my cheek to his forehead, he felt hot. His fever was 101. He always runs a fever when he cuts teeth and right now he is working in his dreaded molars. 

I curled up with him in our comfy rocking chair. I was exhausted, I wanted to sleep, but these quiet moments of getting to cuddle with my little man are few and far between. I am always chasing him as he runs from place to place around the house. I am chasing these moments and they are getting away from me. 

He is still a baby. He started to doze off in my arms, his breaths coming heavy against my face. 

Why do we need children to grow up so fast? The world will push and pull and bend him into adulthood if I let it. It will come on fast and strong and in the blink of an eye if I don't watch closely. It is my job, my calling, my mission to see he grows slowly. 

He has the rest of his life to be a big boy. A child. A young man. A grown up. But he has just a season, a year or two or three (if I'm lucky) to be a baby. 

He has his whole life ahead of him, and it will be a good life, hopefully made easier because he was given the gift of room and time to grow. 

I won't rush it. He is still a baby. He is my baby.