She is 10 weeks old. Ten. 10. That’s more than 2 months. And my mind keeps telling my lungs to breathe and my brain to remember every tiny detail.
Like tiny little toes.
Because pictures will never replace how adorably tiny and wonderfully soft they are.
I want to remember how ridiculous it is to take pictures of babies next to stuffed animals. It’s so corny and so funny…but now I’ll never be able to get rid of this tiny mermaid because I’ll remember how she was just barely smaller than my baby.
And most of all, I want to remember this hair.
The number one thing that people comment about.
Because there is nothing like baby hair. And lots of it. It’s wispy and soft and smells really good.
Those lashes curl. They are long and her eyes are dark, and the lashes…they curl.
And that big brother of hers said to me, “She smiles. That’s why I love Charlotte.” I didn’t ask him why he loved her. We weren’t even talking about her. But in the 5 seconds it took him to run from Bob the horse in the garage to his pile of train tracks in the hall, he stopped to touch her toes and say, “She smiles. That’s why I love Charlotte.”
And I imagine in her mind she is thinking, “I love you, too.”
Because even when she is getting squished and pulled, and when she is falling out of her brother’s arms, she still manages to smile a little. She has it good and she knows it.
And then Alice breaks in with her, “Hold her?” And how can I say no to a sweet request like that?
And 10 weeks have gone by too fast. And I get sad thinking that I will never change a NB size diaper on a tiny Prasil bottom again.
Because, secretly, when people so rudely ask, “So you’re done, right?” and I reply, “Oh my gosh, yes!!” I think to myself, “No. I want to have lots and lots of babies. And thank you for being so rude and assuming that I would definitely be done with 4. Just because 4 is a lot to you does not mean it’s too many for me. I want more.”
But anyway, here is Charlotte Clayton from 0-10 weeks.