I want you to stop growing. Seriously. You've reached perfection. It's selfish, I know, but I can not part with who you are right now. I love that baby-robin you become; when I'm eating you put your mouth to mine while holding my ears as if to tweet - feed me.
And please, let it always be this easy to switch on your grin, that four-tooth grin, wattage enough to light up my insides. I promise to stop complaining that you're not a good sleeper. Ignore everything I've written about it. I'll stay awake if you'll always look at me like I'm the only one with the answers.
And that other thing, when you are just about to be nursed, you cry out in frenzy and frustration, like it just isn't fast enough for you; that, I love that.
Who do I make a deal with? Write the cheque to?
You are my waking chirping lark even when you've been up all night teething, your chubby warm hands on my face chanting da-da-da in the dark. I'm willing to give up all my shoes-no questions asked-for that knee bend and grunting in the morning, your way of letting Dad know you'd like some of what he's eating. I would go barefoot forever to make tangible that gaze you direct at your brother, like he's been your favourite comedian since time began.
I will surely weep the day you grow into those ears, when you stop smelling like heaven, when you don't fit snugly into the crook of my arms. I'm head-over-heels. Love -struck! But you should know, though he would never go on and on the way I do, your Dad is just as smitten. I see the way his eyes light up when you smile. Nonchalantly he asks me if I'd like a break from holding you but I know it's because he needs you close. I'm onto him.
So we beseech you, please, slow down.
Okay I thought more about it and if you felt you needed to start sleeping through the night, I could live with that.