Dear Sadie: 2 Months

Dear Sadie,

Oh, my girl. As I type this, you are two months and four days old. It is early evening, a time when you are not a fan of being put down. So I’m wearing you in the Ergo carrier, and as of today, you no longer require the infant insert that goes with it. You’re also wearing 3-month clothing, and for the first time, don’t appear to be swimming in it.

In other words, my darling, time is moving way too quickly.

In the past few days, I’ve recognized how much you’ve grown, and am so grateful.  Grateful for your life, that you arrived safely and are a healthy, growing, THRIVING little one.  I want nothing more in this world than for you to keep doing just that—growing and thriving, every single day. Really, baby. Full speed ahead, and don’t you look back.

But I will. Earlier this week I was cleaning out your diaper bag, and wedged way down into one of the pockets, along with a crumpled-up Lara bar wrapper, was a newborn-sized diaper. My heart skipped a beat at how completely miniature it looked, especially compared to the size 1 Pampers you’re rocking these days. It appeared to be made for a doll (wasn’t it, though?) but my fingers so clearly recalled fastening those yellow tabs around your precious belly with so much room to spare that they overlapped in front. I thought about tossing it- it was only one, and not worth giving away. But I just couldn’t. It’s still sitting on a shelf in your closet, because you will never be that tiny again.

Sadie-girl, I’ll confess it now:  There are moments when I wish you were bigger. When I long for a time when you will sleep through the night in your own room, when your daddy and I can eat dinner together without passing you back and forth in an attempt to keep you from fussing. Sometimes, when I’m exhausted and lonely (because cute as you are, you aren’t much of a conversationalist yet) on a Wednesday afternoon, I daydream about a time when you don’t need to ride in your much-loathed car seat anymore, and every solo drive I take with you won’t leave me wracked with anxiety over your red-faced, hiccupping screams.

But then I think of each morning, sometime between 2:00 and 3:00, when I can hear you start to stir in your Pack n’ Play, just feet away from our bed. When I undo your swaddle and you arch your little back and stretch your chubby legs, eyes closed and lips pursed. I think of picking you up and the way your head finds the space between my chin and my shoulder. The way that head smells as you burrow your beautiful face into my chest. And when you finally surrender to being awake, the gummy smile you give me when you look up at my face.

You light up my whole world.

And suddenly I’m not ready for you to leave my arms, let alone my bedroom. Instead of wishing away these days, I find myself working to memorize them—from the sound of your cry to the feeling of your forehead on my lips.

I guess that’s the big challenge of parenthood (as if there was only one!) You want with all of your being for your child to grow up healthy, happy, and strong. But in the same breath, you want to pause, right here, forever.

Sadie, I know it’s your job to grow. God willing (oh, please God) you will grow and live an amazing life, full of love and wonder. I know it’s my job to help you along your way, but never stand IN your way. I’m sure I will struggle on both sides of that coin, my darling.

We’re on this road together, baby…you, me, Daddy, and the MANY people who love you. We will hold your hand as long as you permit it. And when you’re all grown up and ready, we’ll let go. But tonight, as your whole hand wraps around my thumb, may I make one request, little girl?

Take your time. I promise I’ll let you.

Love You Forever,



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