You can’t carry him all the time. He’s getting too heavy. You’re going to have to put him down.
I was told this when H was four, maybe five months old.
He was getting heavier, yes, but carrying him was no hardship. Every day carrying a baby was a workout for the next, until one day I was working out for the next day of carrying a toddler.
Now, when I pick him up and carry him out of bed in the morning, I marvel at the rightness of fit that exists between us. We stop by the full length mirror on our way from turning off Ocean Waves, and I see a little boy, his left arm hooked around my right, his long legs dangling, his head at just the right height for me to lean into his cheek for a kiss. I see one of the many ways in which we have grown together over the past 20 months. I see a perfect fit.
I know at some point H will be too heavy for me to carry, but that day has not yet come. When it does, I will keep right on carrying him in my heart.