I just found this. It was written almost four months ago when Charlie was four months old.
I want to stop time. Today, yesterday, last week, tomorrow. Before you came into the world I had no idea how much I’d want to stop time. I had no idea that every age would be the best age. I want to stop time and stare at your milky 16-week-old skin forever.
I wanted to stop time at 11am this morning when you giggled at my song and my heart exploded at the sound. I wanted to stop time yesterday when you snuggled into my neck the way a new kitten does because you were tired and I am the only thing that still truly gives you comfort.
I wanted to stop time last week when you said your first word and it was Mum. I’ll want to stop time tomorrow when I wake you up after your first nap and you uncurl yourself like a cat in the sun and smile a sleepy smile at the curtains. I have no idea why you smile at the curtains and not me, but even that makes me want to stop time and marvel in the uniqueness of you.
I wanted to stop time when you were 10 days old and I was still in a bubble of a love so astonishing my heart seemed to crack open further and further with every day.
I wanted to stop time when I placed you in your grandfather’s arms for the first time and I wept with joy that you had a Grandfather when I never did.
I wanted to stop time on the operating table when the doctor brought you to me and my first whispered words to you were “you’re safe”.
I wanted to stop time when I saw you discover your hand. I could see the concentration on your face and almost hear your little exclamation – look Mum, a hand!!
I wanted to stop time the day after you were born when I heard a funny sound from my hospital bed and looked over to see you in your Dad’s arms as he sobbed with joy over the top of your tiny, perfect head.
I wanted to stop time when we brought you home from the hospital and showed you your nursery I’d spent so many years imagining.
I want to stop time every time I see you fresh out of the bath, naked and perfect on a warm towel, skin glowing and eyes big.
I wanted to stop time when I saw you in my sister’s arms. One day I’ll tell you what IVF is and how your Aunty was one of my biggest supports for those six, long years.
I’ll want to stop time in a few months when you heave your determined little body forward into your first crawl. I’ll want to stop time on your first birthday when everything will be pink and green and there’ll be too much cake and I won’t care if people think I’m silly.
I’ll want to stop time when you take your first step, wave your first hello, eat your first food, kiss me back.
I want to stop time so I can remember all of these things. There is you and me, and daddy makes three. And that’s enough. You are enough. You are my light and my joy and my heartsong. So I remember all I can – all the minutes of joy, each second of wonder and fear and surprise. And it’s ok if I never get to repeat them because I had them with you, my miracle, my heartsong. My love.