You sit in your bed and cry for me. I put my computer down and run towards you, like I always do when you wake up from sleep. I took you into my arms and you lay down on my shoulder. I start rubbing your back and you start meddling with my earring. For a brief moment I realize how big you are. I know that if I stop you from doing it, you would get up from my shoulder and probably leave me.
My eyes glance at a random photo framed on the wall. It is from your 6 months, all 3 of us pose for the photo. I see the innocence in your face back then, which is completely missing from you now. Like a roller coaster, my mind quickly wanders everywhere. Within my mind, I leave this house, I leave you, I leave everything around me and travel to the past.
You are less than 2 weeks old. I nurse you and then sit you up in my lap for a burp. You are still asleep but you can’t sleep comfortably. You move your face here and there and twitch your facial muscles as if to suggest that you are doing some really tiresome work combined with a sigh. I laugh. You do it everyday and I laugh every time. And then I remark that I should take a photo of this expression of yours. After a few days, I keep the photo camera ready in my hands while burping you, but to my surprise, you stop doing it.
I wander from that stage of your life and I don’t see it again. My heart aches and I realize that I actually miss it.
And then my whole world is filled with spit up. Yes, white, curd-like spit up. My clothes always have white stains and I don’t care. My body and my hair smell of spit up and I don’t care. My breasts are wet with spit up and I don’t care. I wash it and within 1 hour I get more spit up. One day you spit up in your father’s face. Another day it was your grandmother’s mouth when she tried to delight you by holding you high. I don’t care. I look at flowers, rain, trees, nature and I smell spit up. No, I don’t care.
I wander away to a later stage of your life and I don’t see any spit up. I don’t smell it any more. Nobody knows when you stopped spitting up. May be it changed slowly, 20 times a day reduced to 10 times and then 5, 3, 1 and then no more. It happened gradually that I didn’t realize. I don’t carry a towel with me anymore to put on people’s shoulders when they want to carry you. You are clean. But now my heart aches again and I miss the spit-ups.
Then I remember your real baby smell, which is neither spit up nor baby powder. It is your smell. I miss it.
I remember your delicate skin which is not at all similar to the skin that got it’s first bruise this morning in the playground. I miss it.
I remember your coos and I miss it.
You laugh out loud looking at the air conditioner and you just stare at people’s faces. I miss it.
You cry when I bath you. I miss even that.
I miss all of our past together. All of those memories make my heart ache and when I am about to burst……
….your fingers holding my earrings start to feel ticklish. I come back to this world and hold you finger tight to stop you from doing it. You raise up your still sleepy head and smile at me. And then you hold my other earring. I hold that finger too and you laugh. You slowly drift away from your sleepy self to your active normal self. I can’t resist any longer and I start kissing your cheeks hard. You give in and enjoy the cuddling. I hold you tight and before my mind drifts away to think about how I would miss this moment one day, I get into the mode of enjoying the present. I lay you down on the sofa and start tickling you. The house fills up with your laughter.