Last week, he hit the four month mark like a bulldozer. He's solidly out of the newborn stage and growing into the clothes in the bag in the back of the closet that I almost honestly believed wouldn't fit him for years yet. He laughs when I kiss his nose and wants eye contact 24/7. He still cries a lot, but I guess some babies just cry a lot. He has a toy microphone that my friend Marcie made for him that he likes to hit himself in the face with. Luckily, it's crocheted and doesn't seem to hurt him. Then again, maybe that's why he cries a lot.
Last week also marked one year since we found out he was on his way.
I remember waking up about this time on May 24, 2013 and just knowing. Just like that. I had come to a place where I knew I'd never be able to fully give up on it, but the possibility of it ever actually happening seemed far off and unlikely, at best. I no longer really got my hopes up about it, and hadn't taken a pregnancy test in at least a year.
But that night, my eyes popped open and I just...knew. I can't even pinpoint why. I laid there in the dark for three hours staring at the shadowy shapes around the room and thinking about all the change that was about to happen. I didn't wake Barclay up.
I was like a sky diver sitting for a second before jumping. The view from the plane was amazing. I wanted to really take in how motherhood looked from this perspective one last time before it came rushing towards me.
And here we are. And it's every bit as beautiful and terrifying as it looked from up there.