As we watched the Olympic coverage on TV, I was taken back to the first days after my baby boy was born. I spent long hours during the last Olympics sitting on our sofa holding my brand-new, first-born son. I was still at the stage of working out feeding and sleeping and feeling exhausted. The easiest thing was to sit there feeding then to hold him and watch him fall asleep, wake-up, sleep again.
Four short years. I think it is Amanda Soule who writes in her beautiful blog, Soulemama, that the days may be long with little ones, but the years are certainly short. Already I miss the littleness of my boy. His chubby arms and legs have strong muscles on them now. He runs, jumps, climbs, rides his bike and makes a lot of noise. He loves the familiar. He has found his own strong voice. His vocabulary amazes me. He will do anything for sugar and almost anything for a story. He builds and builds with little lego, modifying (as he calls it). He loves being with people. He loves playing imaginary games. He loves taking things apart. He is hardly ever shy. He responds sweetly to his little sister’s cry of ‘help, me, nani!’ He is strong, mischievous. kind.
I want to encourage all that is good in him, everyday. These are precious moments, these short, short days of childhood.