Grasping at the fabric of time

On Motherhood: You’re changing so fast and I’m left standing there with fists full of thread

I cried because you’ve already grown out of your newborn clothes. The tiny black and white striped onesie with the little lion head on the front. The thermal sleeper with the bear feet that your little arms used to get lost in. The cream-colored onesie that says I love mommy. I used to hold it up to my belly when you were still inside and I’d say to your Dad, “Is he really going to be this small?” 

You were. 

We celebrate your growth because that means you’re healthy and strong. I can’t wait to hear the sound of your voice and see your first finger painting. My stomach fills with butterflies when I think about the adventures we’ll go on. But I also mourn the loss of those early days when your body fit against my chest and I could cradle you with one arm. The days when we’d sleep the summer sun away and the whole world closed around us. The days when your feet were only as long as my thumb and I could count your eyelashes. Everything was hazy and dreamlike as if I wasn’t quite awake or asleep, stumbling around in the in-between. 

I’m grasping at the fabric of time and it’s forever unraveling in my fingers. Next week you’ll be two months old. I’m with you every moment, present in every facet of your existence and yet I miss you so much that it makes my heart hurt. I miss who you were just minutes ago. You’re changing so fast and I’m left standing there with fists full of thread.