She was so lovely, so little, the recently arrived Lucy. Sleeping soundly (that didn’t last long), looking like butter wouldn’t melt (it absolutely does), I could only sit and stare at her for a while. There is something about a newborn’s newness that doesn’t last long – the curl, the unfurling stretch, the tiny “o” of a yawn.
The perfect wonder of a newborn baby will hold you spellbound. Time passes. You barely look up, because you’re busy watching her breathe, the gentle swell and fall, the flickering fingers, the repertoire of expressions, already so many although so few days have passed.
You watch. Slightly hushed. Not wanting to wake her. Wanting desperately to wake her to look in her eyes and meet her properly.
I’ve looked in her eyes and said hello so many times since then. But not nearly enough.
I’ve held her when she giggled and cuddled her when she cried. But not nearly enough.
I want that time back again. But I can’t have it.
So I look at the photographs I have and settle very happily for that. And make a date to see my old friend and her two daughters again. Not before time.