Enoch's Eight Monthiversary

I've been hit hard with the beautiful and terrible pangs of parenthood lately. The big boys are getting So Big, and when I stumble upon old photos and videos it's heartmelting and awful all at once. These days, these precious days, run like water through my fingers. And these children are not mine to keep. That's the whole point, really. They are not mine. It is already a weight I feel on my chest now and again. Older parents might shake their heads at me and exchange knowing glances. Just you wait... 

I know, I say. 

I am waiting. And trying to remember the shape of the water even as it runs.

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Enoch turned eight months old a week ago. I took the pictures on the day, but they're late in going up. What a boy. He is fat and jolly and sings when we sing and chortles while he does his best to get us in all those classic "getting" games. He growls ferociously as a regular means of communicating. He sits up on his own and plays with gusto, examining in great detail anything within reach, and he can pivot and scooch a bit on his bottom. (However, he still thinks being on his belly on the floor is a real persecution and has not yet demonstrated any desire to do any of the normal baby mobility things.) Eating, though. EATING. We've never had such a child. He's always yumm-ing and yelling through meals and is an exceedingly vocal eater. He kicks his feet. He yells frantically when it doesn't come fast enough. And he can down a rather shocking amount of food for his size. (Rundy thinks it won't be long before we have to buy a whole cow just for him.) He laughs until he gets squeaky. He whack-whack-whacks to show love when he's fetched from bed. He has a deep and abiding friendship with our cat, Nia. He says ma-ma-ma all the time (but I'm not flattering myself). He is very social and loves just being with his family. With people in general. The best sort of comfort for a boy like Enoch is simply being with you. And so as he works on growing all those teeth (four more on the way), he's been our constant little bedfellow. Not the first. And perhaps not the last. We are glad to have him. Rundy and I both have the indomitability of time on our minds. Babies are only babies for a blink.

I'm glad you're still a baby, Enoch.

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(Don't be fooled by the first few photos. His real feelings about being on the floor on his stomach come out in the subsequent photos.)

But he loves being outside!

And he loves his Tadhgie.

Enoch's Seven Monthiversary (And A Few Slices of Life)

A week late (again). 

My words are few and fumbling. Too much has happened in the space of a week's time for me to have them at the ready. Life is precious and fleeting and not guaranteed, but when God preserves once, and again, and again within my social circle in just a handful of days, and when I see those who are faced with impossible choices fall on His mercy against all reason and others hard-pressed to lay aside reason for mercy, I put my hand over my mouth. Life is tender and broken so easily, and in the end, it is never ours.

I hold my little Enoch a bit closer and ponder these things. 

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This was the month of burgeoning curiosity, lots of sitting up and playing, continued professional snuggling, giving Mama baby hugs and sloppy suckerfish smooches, and finally having two little teeth poke through for our happy little doughboy.