The Moments Feel Fleeting


I want to stop time.

My daughter turned eight months old a couple days ago.  This isn’t a particularly noteworthy event. Most people think in halves and wholes.  But I’ve been struck with a sense of melancholy nostalgia.  I stared at her in the light of my book lamp while she was sleeping and tried to memorize her angel face, her sweet sleepy sighs and nearly bald head.

Maybe it is because she recently powered through three developmental milestones in less than two weeks. It’s hard that they grow up so fast over very few months. It’s even harder when they grow up in the space of minutes.

I spent a solid five years battling depression and anxiety. Depression makes you live in the past while anxiety does the opposite.  I am so balanced now and I contribute this to the fact that my daughter makes me live in the moment.

But today the moments feel fleeting and I’d like to catch them by their tails and keep them close.

Someday the world will hurt her. Someday she will have scars and someday her heart will break. One day she will no longer fit so neatly against my body. So tonight, I bury my face into her hair and inhale the baby smell that is already fading. Tonight I refuse,  once again, to put her in her crib.

Tonight I am thankful that I have a reason to savor time.


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