I love this boy. He is so funny, and so serious. Gentle all the time, but assertive when he needs to be. He is still a scrawny little guy, but nurses so well, and I’ve never had a baby who gulps his milk so loudly and so lustily. I keep telling myself I *must* take more photos of him, but these days I have been falling into bed at 2 in the morning after finally staggering around the house cleaning up the messes after everyone else has gone to sleep, and another day goes by. Most of the photos I have of Cosmo are kind of goofy-looking, and while he is absolutely gorgeous in person, he is not as immediately photogenic as Felix was when he was tiny. I really do appreciate the different perfection of each of my kids.
I try not to think about the possibility that Cosmo might be my last baby, but the thought intrudes from time to time, and it’s a shattering, sinking, sickly feeling, to be honest. So I banish those sensations as quickly as I can, and turn my attention to the now of Cosmo’s softness, his beautiful deep blue eyes, and the way he smiles at me like I’m the love of his life. I’m madly trying to download the memory of his new fluffy hair, and the concentration with which he is discovering his toes, and his bobbly head, and his beautiful smile. That smile. Even so, I know there is no way to really remember this. I just kiss him as much as I possibly can–constantly–and sometimes I cry a little bit, and then I write it down.
And of course, I console myself with the idea that I could, actually, maybe, have another one in a few years. You know, when things are organized, when we have our life together. I’m still young. There’s still time.