I remember when my baby didn’t even know he had hands. We would put his tiny fingers in scratch mitts to save his face. The mitts were so small they were like finger puppets.
Now Charlie’s nearly two years old and I am facing a reality that my baby is not a baby anymore. It was bound to happen.
I haven’t known him for very long but I almost can’t remember when he was wearing the finger puppets. The details are fading and being replaced by an insanely busy life where I constantly feel I don’t give him enough time.
When Charlie was a baby all I had was time with him. The first moment we first locked eyes felt like an eternity. It was so quiet and I hadn’t prepared anything to say. We just stared at each other.
“Hi, I am your Mum,” I finally said, with tears streaming down my face.
My little baby at a few weeks old. (Post continues below).
That’s how it began. I had crossed a gulf to motherhood, unlocking an ocean of space in my heart that I didn’t know was there. At the same time my son was seeing a new world too.
For the first year we spent nearly every moment together. Call it healthy or not, I have never had such an intense relationship.
Time played tricks on me. The hours of crying and rocking and restless feeding were when time slowed down and then it sped up when he giggled through Chinese rhyme time. Then time sped up again when he slept. I would make a cup of tea and put a few dishes away and then my day was over and my partner would come and ask: “What did you two do today?”
I’d think, nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. The days were full. They were jammed packed with a kind of nothingness that filled my heart up – almost to bursting point.
Charlie in the early days. Image supplied.