An interesting thing is beginning to happen. You just turned 7 months. Your hair is now a magnificent mullet. (Natural highlights, too!) You can sit and roll over on your stomach. You’re eating food now, and you love to gnaw on an apple with your two bottle opener teeth on the bottom gum. Yes, a lot is happening for you.
Much to our equal parts delight and dismay, you’re beginning to figure out the whole mobility thing. You pull up onto your knees, pump back and forth like you’re getting ready to push a bobsled, and then slide. Backwards. Even though you’re reaching out with your hands to grab the toy in front of you. It’s hilarious, Blue. You’re going to get it soon, though, and already, we’re wistful for the days when you just sat there and made funny faces while you experienced your first farts.
We’re way past first farts now. 7 months, and we’re already nostalgic for the “good old days.” That’s the way of things, though. It used to be, nostalgia took decades to set in real good. Now, everything gets faster and faster. I caught it real bad the other day when I started looking through my photostream.
The way it works is simple. On my phone, the photostream keeps account of my last 1,000 photos, even if I break my phone or lose it on a roller coaster or throw it at a bear. The phone just takes the picture, squirts some magic magnet dust on it, and then throws it in the air for the great cloud of internet floating overhead to catch it. Anyway, right now the 1,000 photo limit is starting to run up into your birth photos, eating away at snapshot memories like “The Nothing” from The Neverending Story.
Of course, they’re not going away. I do have them saved somewhere else. Two places, actually. Your father is no dumb-dumb. But still, they’re not right at my fingertips anymore. Hence, wistfulness.
Time is a slippery rope, Blue. No use in trying to clamp it.