Yesterday I had the privilege of holding a friend’s two-month old baby during the worship service. You should know by now that I’m not baby crazy. I’m done with babies. I don’t want any more of my own, nor am I anywhere ready for grandkids. I’m not even ready for the nieces and nephews to have babies. I may have been permanently scarred by diapers or something.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved my own- couldn’t wait to have them and loved every minute of their babyhood. By far my favorite part was holding their soft, warm, sleeping little bodies close to mine while I stared down into the beautiful features of their little faces.
Baby Addison has a sweet face, but let’s face it- unless they’re your own or have some outstanding feature like bug eyes or a shock of red hair- all babies look alike until they start to develop a little personality. Don’t hate; you know it’s true!
As I sat there in the pew, rocking baby Addison next to my long-legged, freckle-faced Liz, I was amazed at the passage of time. Ten years ago it was her I was rocking, Thomas and Emma on either side of me on a pew covered in Hot Wheels, crayons and Cheerios. Now Thomas and Emma sit with friends at church and usually Jack, Liz and I can make it the whole service without Cheerios.
It’s going too fast.