Eight months

Dear Noah,

I never knew so much could change in eight short months.

I've watched your eyes turn from brown

to blue

to green.

The corners of your mouth turned up slightly,

and I said that once you smiled, once you laughed, you could stop growing.

I said that's all I needed.

But time has moved on, even more quickly.

Your little movements were once spastic and uncoordinated;

and now you can grab, throw, play -- with purpose.

Eight months ago, you couldn't hold up your head.

And now --

now you're driving.

I've watched your humor, your comprehension, your personality develop.

I hope you stay this way, exactly how you are at eight months -- sweet and happy.

But I know time will go on, another eight months passing, and then another.

You'll start talking, only to talk back.

You'll start walking, only to walk away.

Can't you just stay with me? Can't time just stop?

But at the same time, I look forward to the next eight months. I know how much can happen, how much can change.

Only at the count of eight.

I love you Beaner.