The other day Aiden hauled out his baby scrapbook, and of course, once it's in sight, I had to go through it.
It's funny the tug of loss I feel when looking at pictures of my children as babies. Because it doesn't feel that long ago, but when I poke through those pages I'm forced to acknowledge the passing of the years. There's no denying it.
I'm often entranced by Aiden's baby pics. Searching for clues, staring at his face. I'm mostly brought back to that time, when I believed I'd already met my little boy. I guess when he was so young I thought i knew him, that all my ideas of who he would be were real, not just my imaginings.
I thought I'd already opened the gift that was my boy. I thought that when he was born that the wrapping paper had already been torn off fully.
I was so wrong. In reality I've been tearing away at the gift wrap bit by bit, piece by piece. Every now and again I think I know what's inside, tease myself with hints, predictions. Kind of like when you're fondling a gift before Christmas, certain you've figured out what's hiding beneath, only to be thrown off by the feel of something you can't quite explain. I was sure this was a blanket, so what's that hard lump I'm feeling? Back to step one in the guessing game.
I've always thought that a glimpse of the future would help quell all of my fears. But maybe children aren't meant to expose themselves all at once. Maybe none of them do. Perhaps we let our own ideas of who they are interfere with who they were going to be. We kind of set their course for them, almost accidentally.
So I guess I'll keep on tearing slowly, peaking inside, guessing and dreaming.
Because the gift of my boy is meant to be savoured. No rush, I'll unwrap slowly.