Yesterday I started the normally drama-free process of choosing a new car seat for the kid, since he is just about to outgrow his infant seat. I didn't get far before I started feeling sad, then suddenly broke down sobbing. The problem? I suddenly remembered bringing the little guy home from the hospital in his car seat and how you could barely see his teeny feet over the edge. We had to use all the available padding, and he only barely fit, being just a few ounces over the minimum weight. The car seat was just another thing I used to measure his progress - watching as his weight went up ounce by ounce and then pound by pound, seeing his pants suddenly become too short as he sprouted another few inches, taking out the padding and letting out the straps of the seat as he got bigger.
Nostalgia for the earliest days and weeks of infancy is so easy to fall into. Nobody really wants their baby to stay teeny forever. They're helpless, flailing, crying in fear of all these new sensations. But as soon as they gain the tiniest measure of independence and capableness, you start feeling a twinge remembering when they clung to you in blind dependence.
And, really, I love the stage he's at now. Bright eyes and ten months old, babbling and jabbering all day long. He's scooting around and doing something new constantly. Everyday I see the pieces fall into place and he understands and communicates. Why would I wish for the days when I was desperately trying to interpret his cries? But I do, just a little.
Yesterday, I thought, out of nowhere, that this last year was the only year of my life that I would willingly live over, changing nothing. Even at the best of times I would never have said that. And it's been hard, very hard, but still I would do every second over again.
