Missing You

I was getting ready to put my daughter to sleep last night, just like I always do. Hallway lights on, room lights off. Crib blanket laid out nicely so when I lay her down its within easy reach. Rocking chair in the right position. Noise-machine on 'Waterfall'. Everything was ready. As I was walking out of the room, I noticed something. It was the blanket I used 11 months ago, in the hospital, the night she was born. Jackie bought it when she found out she was having a girl, and we brought it to the hospital with us. It is a pink cotton blanket with little elephants vacationing in Paris on one side, very girly without being 'baby' (Jackie and I never liked babyish things, you know, baby Mickey Mouse, Whinnie-the-Pooh, etc).

I stopped and picked it up. I held it and remembered what it was like to hold my daughter as a newborn, and how in just a few minutes I would be putting the same little girl to sleep. I missed her so tiny, so delicate, so …new. But I realized I also missed her right then, even though she was only downstairs. It wasn’t that I missed her because she wasn’t around, I missed her because I knew, soon, that she would be different, and I would be missing that little girl crawling around downstairs.

I've had more than a few people ask me if we are going to have more children. I don’t know. I don’t know how anyone can truly answer that question. They always ask 'Well, don’t you miss having a tiny little baby?' Of course I do, but not because it’s a tiny baby, I miss those times with my daughter. If I had another, I would end up missing those times just the same.