Bumping Noses in the Dark

Precious moments with my now six-month old child come and go so fast. 

Yesterday, it is 4:30 AM and I am in the room with my now six-month old child when he awakes. His eyes are wide and his smile bright. He kicks his legs and flails his arms, showing that he has no further interest in sleeping. It is time to play.

I pluck him out of his baby-size hammock and lay back on the bed. The room is completely dark, but our eyes adjust–his likely more capable of seeing than mine. As I hold him on my chest I can see the shadows of his smile, hear his coos, and feel his hands trembling at my beard.

He likes it when we bump our noses together. I slowly tilt his body towards mine until the big “nose bumping” event occurs. He giggles. I pull him back upright. He waits patiently for the next nose bump.

Every event is new to him. We repeat this ritual for thirty minutes, all the while he laughs.

Mommy wakes up at 5:30 AM. Time for her to prepare for work. But she joins us on the bed.

She tells me about her dreams. I feed the baby a bottle.

The moments come and go so fast. I turn thirty-six years old one week from today. I was twenty-seven when I signed a contract to complete my book. So much has changed. Am I still the same person? I don’t feel that I have changed. But nothing around me is the same.