February 15, 2009
How can I slow this down?
A few days old, on my breast, pale skin, slick coal black hair, grey eyes, beautiful, no expectations, but to be taken care of, smelling so perfect, so new
How I can I slow this down, the softness, the squishiness, the waiting for brown on the tips of your ears, so we can see how brown you’ll become
Changing features to see who you’ll look like
Waiting for the gas to pass so we can see you really smile
How can I slow this down? So I’m not always waiting for the next milestone, small or large. Where perfection exists even in his crying, in every expression though so unintentional or with little to no meaning, just mostly reflex
Where I just want to hold him and love him and that is all.
Where how much weight I’ve gained doesn’t matter because time is so slow, there is only room for this baby and his hair that is soft but won’t stay put. Hair that shows no evidence of the kink that will come, where there is no evidence of race and despite the belief that newborns come with blue eyes (and the nurse not looking at him, but insisting his eyes were blue), my first had brown and this one grey, like me when I was born and my grandmother’s whose have always been.
To slow it down so I don’t need my camera to capture an expression, his beauty.
To slow down time, so I don’t worry about my first born and his adaption, so I can only see him smiling at his little brother.
So there is only space for imagining a playful, joyful relationship between the two.
How can I slow down this love, this moment, this maternal energy, the beauty of this child, how blessed I feel
How can I put his birth, his being here, his first days, weeks, months in slow motion
In slow motion to make sure I remember, cherish, and never wonder how it went so fast.
How can I slow this down?