Tom turned 10 months old at the start of April, and already memories of the early months of his life are starting to slip from my mind. It doesn’t seem possible, for example, that for more than half his life he slept at the foot of our bed, those days seem almost years away.
I know people say that these early months and years fly by, but now, as they’re happening, it doesn’t seem that way. With a constantly changing and growing little boy to add texture and depth to the months, they seem to have stretched on forever. This is the longest year of my life. But in a good way.
What prompted me to think of this was earlier we sat watching videos from Tom’s early days and weeks. They’re strange and haunting, each cry and noise from that tiny Past Tom make me catch my breath, even though it was less than a year ago. He’s so helpless, so fragile. It’s hard to believe we went months with a little package that barely registered our existences, compared to the rocket-powered inquisitive squiggle monster we have now.
Seeing the videos of Past Tom is also almost heartbreaking. Strangely, I find myself seeing it like Tom is as he is now but frustratingly squeezed inside a smaller, less able, copy of his body. It’s hard not to think of it like Current Tom has always existed fully formed inside that little package, and has just been waiting for the brain and body he’s been put in to catch up and allow him to fully express his personality.
If that makes any sense whatsoever?
Of course, I know it doesn’t really work like that at all. And Current Tom is a mere fraction of the person he will become. But there’s sort of an innate Tom-ness about him. Like some Platonic ideal of what a Tom should be, which he’s slowly growing towards. I don’t have any idea, really, what it will be like, but I’ll know it when I see it.
