The other night, I got to share doTERRA with a mom's group at a local wellness center. When I entered the room, the first thing I realized was how very out of place I was. Here were a dozen women loving on their combined 14 babies ranging in age from 3 days to 8 months.
I didn't have a baby.
It's the first time that thought has really smacked me in the face like that. Because I do have a baby. I call him baby every day and he curls up small in my lap and sits contentedly while I sniff his head and touch his soft skin.
But he's not really little. He is in the overall, but he's not tiny by any stretch of the imagination. He's not curl-up-on-my-chest-and-have-room-to-spare tiny. He's not 7-pounds-and -20-ish-inches-that-can-wholly-be-supported-by-one-arm-while-I-do-something-with-the-other-hand tiny. He's not lay-him-on-half-a-dishtowel-and-cover-him-with-the-other-half tiny.
Those wee little ones were there with their mamas while the mama's shared their anxieties as first time mamas and stripped their babies down for a weight check to be sure they were growing. All these mama's with their diaper clad babies resting on their shoulders, and all I could see were the teensy little socks strewn about the floor.
Teensy, tiny, itty, bitty baby socks.
These are my baby's new socks. They don't fit in the palm of my hand. They span the entire length of my hand a hang over off the sides. It's the first time I've been so keenly aware of the fact that although I still, and always will, I'm sure, consider him my baby, he's not a baby anymore. He's a three and a half, super independent, quite capable little boy. He is a self-declared Big Boy.
I miss baby socks. I miss when my sweet little ones teensy feet fit into those socks.
But I love the people they are growing into, the people with big personalities, big hearts, big curiosities, and big(ger) feet who need big(ger) socks.
I might, though, need to find a pair of baby socks. To better remember the tiny times until the next generation gets here...
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