It seems like I am constantly running into mothers whose children are grown and gone.  Enjoy it, they tell me, because this will pass quickly.  Cherish her while she is small, they say, because soon she will have a tiny one of her own.  Time flies, they remind me, and it flies fast.

When Charlotte was only a few weeks old, I was like WHATEVER, CRAZY PEOPLE.  It seemed like she would be that small forever.  Like I would always be sore from delivering her, like there would always be a small mountain of diapers at the end of a day, like breastfeeding would always be a source of immense pain.

This morning, as I was sneaking out of bed, I stopped for a moment to soak her in.  She smiled in her sleep and squeezed my finger and my heart swelled, and then I tiptoed out of the room to let her slumber.

And then I thought WAIT A MINUTE, since when does she squeeze my finger in her sleep?  When did she get big enough to hold on tight?

So I tiptoed back into the bedroom, snuck back under the covers, snuggled up to my precious love, and fell asleep.  My lips on her forehead, my finger in the palm of her hand, my nose breathing in the sweet scent of a much-loved child.  And when we woke up an hour later, we lay in bed cooing and smiling and blowing raspberries for an eternity before facing the day.

Suddenly I am realizing that this, the babyhood of my firstborn, really is flying by.  That my daughter will be grown in the blink of an eye.  That Time really is a stinky, thieving son-of-a-gun that I cannot slow down.

*** This week’s children’s book giveaway (Hello, Tilly by Polly Dunbar) winner is Beth.  Congratulations, Beth!

Do you ever look at snapshots you take with your kid and think WOW, I HAVE A GIGANTIC HEAD?

Because I think that just about every time I see a photograph like this.  Cute baby with Giganti-head.

A few days ago, Charlotte crawled.

I am proud to announce this, I am.  As she slowly, methodically inched forward, I was mere inches away, happily cheering her on.  But you know what?  In the back of my head, I was also thinking, well, IT IS ABOUT STINKING TIME.

In my defense, I have spent the last month watching my daughter learn to crawl.  And if you have ever devoted as many hours to that practice as I have, you will back me up on this: it is an exercise in patience.

Mostly because of the head banging.

Big thanks to Mailis for the cutest little legwarmers!  We love them!!

Over the past month, I have (patiently!) (kind of…) watched as Charlotte has banged her head into the floor, the walls, the floor, the cradle, the floor, the bookcase, the floor, the chair, the floor, the bed, the floor, the cabinets, and the floor.  Oh, and the floor.

I will have you know that I birthed that head, THANKYOUVERYMUCH.  I think that head is perfect.  I think that head is brilliant and precious and wonderful.  I do not think that head needs to be banged into the floor.

There are other frustrating bits as well, of course.  Charlotte has, for example, whimpered and screeched and cried and completely lost her mind approximately three million times an hour over the past few weeks.  Because the toy! Is out of reach!  IT IS OUT OF REACH!  THE TOY!  IT CANNOT BE REACHED!  THE WORLD IS GOING TO END!!!

That sort of thing.

But the head banging is the worst.  So even though I realize that crawling will present its own set of challenges, I have to admit: I saw her scuttle forward .02 centimeters before collapsing and I thought THANK GOODNESS.

My poor, sweet Charlotte is only seven months old and already I want to envelope her in bubble wrap and tell the world to play nice.

*** Sweet Jenna is featured Behind the Blog today.  Enjoy!

About six weeks ago, Charlotte began to grow hair.  It seems a bit odd to phrase it that way, but the truth is that she has long been remarkably bald and then one day her hair just started to grow.  She is still much more bald than a good number of babies, but, okay, look, she has my genes.  She was never going to have great hair.

But my genes are pretty good at making a mean egg salad sandwich.  So.  You know.  It’s not a total crap shoot.

At any rate, Charlotte can now grow approximately half an inch of the cutest baby hair you’ve ever seen, which means that she is mere hours away from graduating from college and bringing home a guy with a lip ring.  And since I have an enormous heap of laundry and an even more-enormous heap of dirty dishes, I thought that we should get some photographs in of the hair.  Like.  Now.

Donald calls that “dereliction of duty.“  But you know what?  That man lights up like a neon sign when he sees black licorice.  His taste buds are clearly dead and they are affecting his speech.  I think he meant to call it “a perfect use of time.“

See?  See what I’m dealing with?  No wonder my dishes and laundry are running wild.  How can I be expected to finish anything when I have wisps of baby hair to play with?

When Donald and I brought Charlotte home from the hospital, the very first thing we slipped her into was a hand-me-down brown pouch.  We took her for a walk that first afternoon home.  My body felt like it was falling apart.  My back ached and my lungs were tired and it hurt to walk.  But I marveled at Charlotte, safely tucked against my body and I felt whole.

How is it, I wondered, that everybody is continuing with their day-to-day business like nothing has happened?  Charlotte is here, I thought.  The whole world has changed.

Since that day, I have worn Charlotte in all manners of carriers.  In slings, in wraps, in pouches.  I have worn her naked against my skin in the shower.  I have worn her warmly enveloped in blankets and jackets.  I have worn her in every position imaginable.  I have worn her for short runs to the shop and I have worn her for five and six mile hikes through the hills.

But I have never again felt like babywearing has in any way been the vessel, if you will, for a bonding experience with my daughter.

Don’t get me wrong: I fully believe that carrying Charlotte to and fro has, undoubtedly, played a very significant role in our relationship.  It’s just that I’ve felt like I bond with her no matter what we’re doing.

Then, yesterday, I decided to take advantage of the wind and have a long walk with Charlotte.  I placed her into a front carrier and wrapped a blanket around her legs.  And then, for no reason whatsoever, she looked straight up at me and laughed.

The child has been laughing for months, but for whatever reason, that particular giggle made my heart skip a beat.  Sometimes it is the little moments like those that melt me the most.  So we looked at one another for awhile, for quite a long while actually, before actually starting our walk.  Just looked.  And laughed.

And I found myself wondering how everybody else in the world could possibly be marching along as though nothing had changed.  Because it was clear to me, as a woman falling ever more deeply in love with a child, that everything had.