Last Firsts

Daniel was nine months old on the 11th of March.
He is getting so big, and while it seems like just yesterday we brought him home from the hospital, all ruddy and small and soft, it seems like it was years ago too.
Now, he has one tooth that was discovered February 15th, and he is working on a few more.
He is crawling.
He pulls himself up on the table, the couch, my pant leg and loves to "walk" around while holding on to mom's fingers.
Soon, he will be walking on his own.
He loves table food, and chews with his one tooth. It is so cute.
He loves to kiss his brothers and his daddy and, of course, his mom, though it's more like he eats my face than kisses me.
He belly laughs when his brothers are doing particularly silly things, or when dad is tickling him.
He loves baths.
He cries when MeMe or Grandpa leave after a visit.
I was watching him today, wondering when he would take his first steps, or what his first words would be, and it hit me. They will be the last firsts.
Daniel is, most likely, our last child.
Every milestone is special for each child, but when you know you are watching your last firsts, there is something agonizingly beautiful, something take-your-breath-sacred about it.
There is a mixed emotion, a bitter-sweet ache that pangs all over my heart, makes me want to cry and laugh all at once.
There is a thankfulness for small blessings, and the ones that are growing.
There is a hallowed ground, of sorts. I am in the presence of God's children, not just my own. I am a caretaker and keeper of His lambs. And though I record these last firsts and marvel at them, as I did for the others, God alone has the very hairs of their heads numbered, knows their hearts, holds their future in the scarred palms of his hands.
I watch Daniel sleeping. I do not want to miss one holy moment of his life, but eventually I will sleep; I must.
We will sleep together, my son and I, spinning through the dark, under the watchful eye of the One who does not slumber nor sleep.