You are my last. My last scent of baby . . . my last newborn onesie . . . my last first smile with your toothless grin. It’s only been four months and I miss it all already. Your toes are still little but not brand new. You already are larger than the little peanut on my chest from a few weeks ago. How I wish the time could slow.

As I was holding you close the other night I tried my hardest to breathe you in, to remember your smell and how I was feeling at that exact moment. I am all too aware how fast it goes. Sure I’ll have pictures and memories, but I know the day will come when I will want nothing more than to feel this moment with you again. I’ll long to snuggle you close and hear your breathing in my ear. So tonight, I will try my hardest to remember this, in detail. The smell of your sweet lavender lotion, detergent, and baby soap. The way you are nuzzled into my neck with your little legs crunched up into my belly. Your oh-so-soft skin against my cheek. Tiny arms, one around my shoulder and one on my chest. I can feel your full body weight resting peacefully on mine. I am your mom and, for this moment in time, your world.

You are my last. Soon there will not be any tiny socks, little hats, or swaddles. I see it happening already as I pick out my favorite newborn clothes to keep forever and ever, and give away the rest. I feel you growing when you no longer fit snug in your Pack ‘n Play and your sweet little feet are hanging a little more than before in your swing.

You are my last; your body is tiny and growing so quickly. Each day I wake up and you do something new. You impress me with every new skill. And with each new skill I remember that this is the last first I will get to rejoice in.

Thinking of all these things, makes my heart ache, makes me already miss what is right in front of me. I don’t want to blink sometimes, feeling like maybe I’ll miss your next big moment or even the little ones that I attempt to memorize. Like your little half smile where sometimes it seems as if you’re trying to tell me something without giving away too much. Or how you try to eat my finger when I am holding your hand, or even my nose when my face is close.

Then I’m reminded that even though you are my last, there will be oh-so-many fabulous and wonderful firsts to follow. How lucky I will be to maybe one day watch you look at your babies the way I look at you. Please don’t grow up too fast and don’t mind Mommy . . . I’ll be watching my last, with tears in my eyes, doing all her firsts.

You make me smile, you make my heart melt, and I apologize ahead of time if I try a bit too hard to memorize all the little details. I apologize if I spend more time than I should staring at you, holding you tight, or giving you hugs and kisses. It’s just your mom trying diligently to remember every detail. Even though I’m excited to watch you grow up, I know I will miss these sweet moments that I am so lucky to experience now. You are my last baby and I am so blessed to enjoy the privilege.

Originally published on the author’s blog