Today, Lenny turns three months old. And thus ends both the longest and shortest three months of my life. The most, let's say disconcerting part of time passing this quickly is that I'm worried I'll forget all of those quirky little things about her, the moments that have made her unique, even at such a young age. I don't want to forget her first smiles, her first laugh, how charmed she is by people when they stick their tongues out at her, the way she squeaked like a dog toy when she cried when she was a newborn and the way she waves her arms and legs around now when she's excited.
I imagine it will be all too easy to forget how, when she was first born, she had these funny little vertical wrinkles where her eyebrows should have been that made her look like present day Alan Alda. When she's running and jumping and doing homework will I remember how determined she was to hold up her head and sit up when she was just a little peanut? What about that look on her face when she does try and sit up? The one that makes her look like an Olympic weightlifter? Is that burned on my brain or do I just think it is? Will career ambitions and meal planning invade on my ability to remember the warmth of our first naps together or her absolute passion for the chandelier in our dining room?
During her first couple of months Lenny would FREAK OUT at meal time. "Baby Len always gets her milk", I'd tell her. But she was never sure and she was never satisfied until she was fed. The kid wouldn't take my word for it. Now that she's been at this baby thing for a few months, she's less anxious at meal time. Perhaps with a little distance, when I've had more time to mature as a mother I'll be less anxious about these things, less worried about forgetting what's gone by and the unknowns in our future. Maybe with a little more time and a little more practice I'll be as wise as my little girl. My stinky, drooling, smiling, thumb sucking little girl.