Today, my son's umbilical cord is hanging by a thread.
When I first brought him home, I could not wait for it to fall off because it made me nervous. I was terrified I would accidentally hurt it, or it would get infected, or it would get caught in his diaper and I would pull it out. The mere thought made me squirm, so I figured that the sooner it came off, the better.
Now it is an ugly stump. It looks like a bellybutton booger...an eyesore on his otherwise deliciously chubby belly. And...I don't want him to lose it anymore. It is the last obvious sign that he was once part of me. Inside of me, eating what I ate, borrowing my blood and oxygen and nutrients.
It all boils down to the fact that he is already growing up. First it's the cord, and suddenly it is teenaged angst and bellybutton rings.
Right now he is in his crib, awake. I have put on a CD for him...baby arrangements of the classics. Fur Elise, Panis Angelicus. We both have gooseflesh. I, because I am not ready for the newborn stage to be over. Him, I think, because he is discovering music on the outside...unmuffled, beautiful and perfect. I know it's not because he is afraid to grow up. He is alert, looks directly at things...and he smiles. Real smiles...not the newborn patented "Heheh...I just farted" crooked grin. Open mouthed, bright-eyed smiles.
I know I should not worry, though...he will always be my son. Even with a bellybutton ring...