I can't believe Jory is six. He's six and adding double digit columns. He's solving word problems. He's reading books. In a few months, he'll be graduating from kindergarten. My baby, my first baby is getting older. I carry him on my hip and his leg tries to impede my walking haning there between my own. I switch him from one hip to another hip. Then from my hips to the front, but now it's easier if he's on my back. The weight seems less.
As I shift Jory around various parts of my body and back to my hip, I look up into his face and think, I need to enjoy this time. As I carry these forty-two pounds, I know that soon he will get too heavy for me to even attempt to carry. That one day he'll probably be able to pick me up. That these are my last days to carry my baby and I should enjoy each and every moment even as I move him to the other hip to give the carrying hip a break. How did we go from newborn to six in a blink of an eye?
No comments:
Post a Comment