Our baby girl is 6 months old! 6! She is growing at the speed of light, which is just too fast for me. She's our last baby, so I am trying to soak in every moment. I hold her as often as I can, which isn't often enough. I pull her into bed even when I know we'll both sleep better if we stay in our own beds. I smother her with kisses and try to remember to take pictures, knowing as I do it's impossible to capture every moment, every expression, every adorable interaction. She is desperate to grow up too, which means there is no chance of slowing her down. She knows that everyone else is doing things she can't do and she is determined to catch up and keep up.
She can't even sit up yet, but she is almost crawling and can scoot across the room astonishingly fast. She wants to drink from a glass and eat from a spoon and her disgust when denied is obvious. So many of her clothes are too small already, but I haven't yet discarded them, though I know I should -- especially the ones she barely or never wore. I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready for that heady baby smell to evaporate or her first tooth or any of the milestones that signal growing up.
And, yet, as much as I want her to be squishy and tiny forever, even I can't help thinking about the future. I imagine her talking and chasing her brothers and discovering the world and who she is and, most importantly, who she wants to be. I imagine doing her hair and buying her dolls and having long conversations about anything and everything. I imagine dance parties and slumber parties and birthday parties. I imagine and wonder about it all and know that what is coming will be just as precious as what we have now. Still, it makes me sad to think that soon she won't grab my finger when she drinks her bottle, or kick her chubby legs in excitement, or put her hand over her eyes when she's eating, or sit quietly with me as we rock and cuddle. Sad, but also happy and excited for the future and all the possibility that is Claire.