My darling baby girl:
You are now six months old.
Please, stop growing.
I can hardly believe it was only six months ago that you were born: A tiny, red, wrinkled bundle of pure joy, and complete innocence.
You’ve grown so much and have developed into the little human you are now, with her own cheeky personality and funny traits.
It makes me so proud to see how far you’ve come.
But please, stop growing.
Your smile lights up my world like you can’t imagine.
The two little teeth that have emerged in the last week make your previously gummy smile even cuter. But please, don’t grow anymore.
See, I miss that gummy smile already.
Yet I long to see how adorable you look with more and more teeth.
Last week you took a nap in your bassinet for the first time ever. It was only the once, and it hasn’t happened again since, but it was a big moment for us all.
I had longed for that moment, when I would finally have my hands free, when I wouldn’t be “nap-trapped” by you and your solid preference for only contact napping.
Yet I missed the feeling of you snuggled close in my arms while you slept peacefully.
Please, stop growing.
Yesterday you learnt a new sound, and now practice it at every waking moment. It’s a high-pitched scream, and it hurts my ears.
I long for you to say your first word and for you to start talking.
But then you won’t make these wonderful baby noises of discovery.
Suddenly I have a strong desire to hear that ear-piercing scream forever.
Please, stop growing.
I know there will be a day when you sit and have a proper conversation with me, and the thought makes my heart both soar and drop at the same time.
It means there will be a day when you will no longer babble nonsense baby talk at me, looking up at me with those big eyes full of wonder as I respond to your chatter with big words you don’t yet understand.
Please, stop growing.
You have begun rolling over, and can now sit up by yourself. Soon you will crawl, walk, run, dance, jump.
My eyes twinkle when I think about a future you climbing about a playground, dancing in a school concert, running your first athletics race.
My eyes mist over at the same thought.
Please, stop growing.
Your current size of clothing is getting tighter and tighter. Soon these clothes will be too small, and I can’t wait to see you in new adorable outfits.
But I find myself feeling disproportionately sad that you no longer fit into the dress you wore at Christmas.
You looked so gorgeous in that dress and it made my heart explode with love.
Please, stop growing.
Each night I long for you to fall asleep, my exhausted body ready for some “me time” after another day of giving you my all – only to sit looking through photos of you once you are in bed, missing you already.
Please, stop growing.
It makes me shake my head in awe as I think of how tiny you used to be, and how you once fit so comfortably in my arms.
You still fill that space perfectly, but I lament the fact that soon you will not.
Soon you won’t cry to be cuddled up in my arms, but instead will tell me it’s not cool to sit on your mother’s lap, and I fear my heart will crack into pieces.
Please, stop growing.
My arms, back and shoulders ache as I rock you to sleep for what feels like the millionth time today. I can’t wait until you are independent enough to fall asleep on your own.
Yet I shudder at the thought of missing out on holding you as you fall asleep, of getting to feel you drift off into dreamland, of no longer being your main source of comfort.
Please, stop growing.
This week we began feeding you solid foods – vegetable purees that make you pull funny faces as you explore the new tastes and textures.
It makes me laugh, and I smile thinking of all the foods I’m excited for you to try, of all the meals we will sit and enjoy together one day.
Yet it also makes me cry, because soon you will no longer need my breast as your main source of nourishment. Soon you may not want it at all.
Please, stop growing.
I smile as I think of you going off to school at 5 years old, expanding yourself through education and life lessons. I can hardly wait to see you experience that.
And yet, I weep daily – huge, heaving sobs – knowing that in just two short months I must head back to work, and send you off to nursery.
My 24/7 time with you that Maternity Leave has allowed me will be over, and it breaks my heart so much I can barely stand it.
You can’t surely be old enough for that yet? You’re still so little.
Please, stop growing.
My darling girl, you make my soul soar with every new discovery, at every new milestone, and yet the weight of each new figurative step you take crushes me as well.
I want to preserve you, right here and now.
I need to savour these moments. I desperately grasp onto them with every fibre of my being.
Because you’re only this little once and I don’t want to miss even a second of it. I can’t bear to miss a second of it.
It’s like I want it both ways: I want to keep this version of you forever, and yet I can’t wait to meet all the other versions of you as you grow.
My heart is heavy as lead though, as I try to contain it all: Every moment, every memory, every little habit and feature that makes you YOU.
I try to jam every little piece of it into my brain, into my heart and soul.
I can’t let any of it slip away without my noticing.
It goes too fast, you see, and I feel like I don’t have enough time to soak it all in.
And I so dearly want to.
Your life could be slowed to a speed of 1000 days to for every 1, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
There’s just not enough time.
So please, stop growing.
For I love you so much, I can’t imagine how I could love you any more than I do right now.
And yet, every day my love for you seems to grow as you do.
That is one thing I am happy to let keep growing.