There are a lot of babies around lately. My own, obviously, who will be three weeks old tomorrow and is so far an absolute delight in all respects, but also my brother and his wife had their second daughter yesterday (YAY FOR COUSINS!). And A.'s brother and his wife have a five-month-old daughter.
Point is, we're currently in the Young Parents stage of life, along with many of our family members. And I found myself thinking yesterday, in the midst of the toddler screaming and the newborn nursing and the changing of diapers and the embattled potty visits and everything else that this stage entails, that . . . I kind of miss it already.
I know. Perhaps I am certifiable. Perhaps I am totally delusional from lack of sleep. Perhaps Cubby's shrieking has pierced to my very brain and rendered me senseless, but, well, I anticipate this will be the last newborn I will ever have. And so I can see now that all of these stages, they are finite. They all end. Both the good and the bad.
There are many things that I will emphatically not miss. Like the aforementioned shrieking. But the shrieking is prompted by the fact that my older son depends on me so much, loves me so much, trusts me so much to keep loving him despite the atrocious behavior. And I know that will change. Just as I know that Charlie will change, that he will never again be three weeks old and making the absolutely hilarious faces that newborns make when they want to eat.
I can't stop the change, but I can remind myself that even on the very worst days, I wouldn't trade any of this for anything.