I wish I could freeze time. I thought it over and over as I lay on the couch with your tiny body curled up on mine, our chests gently rising and falling in unison. I was sore, exhausted and smelled like spit-up and night sweats, and I knew I should be sleeping, but I wanted to live every part of that moment. I wanted to breathe in your newborn smell and watch your eyelids flutter as the afternoon sunlight and the muted sounds of spring streamed in through the blinds. I wanted to lay there with you and forget about the world. I wish I could freeze time. I thought it again as we sat on the porch watching a rare summer rain, my arms wrapped tightly around you as the thunder rolled in, and I told you how blessed I was to be your mom. I thought it the first time you smiled, the first time you giggled and the first time you belly-laughed. I thought it when Daddy and I laid blankets on the living room floor and spent a Sun...