This is a line from an old country song my dad always used to sing. And I am convinced it was originally written by a mother.
I know you’re not supposed to run to rescue your kid after every little peep he makes, but it is SO HARD not to sometimes. Our little guy doesn’t cry much, so when he does, it just kills me. And when he does cry, it’s not the annoying, bitchy sound you would expect. Imagine a little puppy who is heart-liquifyingly adorable, who never pees on anything he’s not supposed to, doesn’t chew your shoes, and loves to cuddle and make you happy. Now imagine that puppy, singing the blues. It’s kind of a sad, howling, heartbreaking kind of sound. How long could you stand it? And then to see his face while he’s making that sound, with these sad, pleading eyes. I can’t take it. If he makes that face while he is supposed to be napping, I have to hold him and make that face go away or I will die.
It is breaking my heart enough that he is growing up so fast already. This past Sunday while I was sleeping in and Daddy was manning Tummy Time, McLean rolled over for the first time on his own. I heard about it later, and was sad I missed it, but happy that Daddy got to have the first big milestone since he doesn’t get to spend much time with the little guy during the week.
But then relaying the event to Jen on the phone the next day reduced me to sputtering tears. It’s like, you want your baby to grow big and strong and develop and gain independence, but why does it hurt so much when it happens?