Dear baby J,
I know I often grumble when I have to carry and rock you before bed, but as I see you peacefully curled up in my arms, I’m painfully aware that these moments are ever so fleeting.
Soon, you will be a tottering toddler, getting your hands and legs into every unsuspecting thing lying around in the house. By then, I may have no choice but to restrain you with my bare hands and feet just to stop you from bulldozing the house down.
Soon, I will be watching you head off to school in a schoolbus. And I will be waving goodbye till the bus turns into the main street and I can see you no more. By then you will be big and independent, but I’m hoping that you will respond as I give you a big how’s-your-day hug when you get home each day.
(I know it’s not a manly thing to be seen doing but still…)
Soon, you will be a roaring teenager with equally loud hormones, and it will be too uncool (absolutely lame?) to be caught in your mama’s arms then. I promise to reserve them only for the rainy days.
Soon, you will settle down with a wife. And I will wait in all eagerness for you guys to make a baby. Maybe then these arms will come in handy once again. (As a grandparent, I am licensed to pamper your children more than I ever did you and Vera, no?)
Soon…this mama will grow old and white, wrinkled and forgetful. In my wintry-grey days, will you be so kind as to lend a loving arm for me to lean on when my own bones threaten to give way?
Soon.
(But for now, I shall stop complaining about having to carry and rock you so much, and about how sticky you are to me. Just thinking about the not-so-distant future does help me to see things in a different perspective.)
Love, mummy
