Firstborn.

As I sit here, for a moment, I cannot recall what time of year it is. What is outside the window, behind the curtains. I cannot remember what the weather is like, what phase of moon we are in. What day is it? What time? When?

This baby breathing in my ear, sleeping so gently here beside me, who is it? Is that you? Is that tiny you?




I want to hold on to some things that I cannot. I don't want to let go.

I wonder how the years flew by so fast, (is it almost thirteen? Really?) And how can such a tiny thing that was planted so deeply in my heart now be too big for me to contain? 

Is this how it goes? 

He is there still, our first-born, no longer the tiny baby,
but now almost a teenager.
But somehow, 

there is a drifting away, as though someone lengthened the rope between our bobbing boats, just a little, imperceptibly... 

But I feel it. And I am at a loss.