I once again have totally dropped the ball with this blogging business. I suppose that is because it isn't really a business. Just something I promised myself to try and keep up with to remember all the sweet little things about this time in our lives. So much sweetness. Accompanied by so much chaos.
I try to sit down during my free time and write. And remember. And cherish the stories. But free time, what is that anyway? A twisted notion created by someone who surely isn't a parent. Okay, that was dramatic.
It's time (once again I know) to recommit. To stop making excuses, that's what I've been doing. Sometimes I'll sit down and log in the blog, and I'll just stare at the screen. My last post was in August, back to school, I mean seriously? Seriously. Then I think of all the things that have transpired from then until now. It's about to be Thanksgiving for crying out loud. How can I possibly backtrack? How will I ever catch up? I can't. It becomes a daunting task, then I get frustrated and so I move the cursor to that friendly "x" way up in the right hand corner and I quit. Aha! Problem SOLVED. Except for this doesn't solve anything. In fact, it compounds the problem, because then
another day goes by, and everyday there is something ridiculously hilarious and cute happening, and probably somewhat insane. I want to remember the
everydays, not just big things. The everyday typical madness that I'm submerged in.
And with the blink of an eye, that one day has turned in to two months. So I'm not going to try and relive those moments. I'm just going to start over, from here, from today. I'm promising to just...well, write. And remember.
I want nothing more than to be able to look back and remember the way this guy still tiptoes down stairs every single morning and snuggles. He nuzzles right beside me, his head falls under directly under my chin. I don't even have to crack open an eyelid. I know it's
him - this one.
Will he always fit so perfectly against my chest? He has unquestionably more then doubled his height from his newborn days, yet he still fits nestled alongside me the exact same. My ribs and his spine interlock. And it's dreamy and it's real and
it's mine. I remember it vividly, but can't help and wonder - does he? Hopefully I can help him remember with stories like these. Stories full of my memories. And then it ends, sometimes mere minutes later, this peaceful morning ritual. It is quickly interrupted by restlessness and giggles, cartoon request and crushed cheerios. I want to remember
that too, equally as vivid.
And please let me remember the way this little guy's hands feel when he presses them against my cheeks to make sure my eyes are focused on his. Contact. And then the adorableness just oozes straight from his soft cherub-like cheeks. I love you's abound. Melting me. Rarely in any volume but EXTRA LOUD. I want to remember the way he sings Twinkle Twinkle, and throws in various lullaby's to fill the missing gaps. The way he squints his eyes when he smiles
this smile.
And though he is easily ten inches shorter than his brother, he fits my chest all the same. We too, have chemistry, we too are perfectly intertwined. His skin so delicate and soft, his hands still hanging on to baby fat. Oh those chubby little fingers! His thumb often propped in his mouth while his eyes drift silently. Yes,
please let me I
will remember.
Of course, there is more. Memories yes, they've already been made with this peanut as well. Eight months really flies by, but all along the way, I am storing the treasures of
this little person. And oh the treasures he was blessed with. The way his face appears swollen and his eyes a tad puffy after a sweet slumber. I want to remember way he plays with his tongue. Tongue in cheek, tongue peeks out, surrounds his lips, blow raspberries all while looking ridiculously adorable, excited, proud, and mischievous. Repeat. This tongue, this baby.
Swoon.
I want to remember the way his small arms and body fall lifeless after he has fallen fast asleep, clutched under my arms. The way his hand feels against my chest when he nurses, speechlessly claiming me, while I claim him. His breathing mimics mine. I want to forget the dinner dishes waiting in the sink downstairs, slip away in to the safe haven of the nursery glider and cradle my bitty until his sparkling brown eyes drift off. How long will he allow being rocked? Assuredly, not
quite long enough. The way he tucks his lower lip in to his mouth, concealing it's plumpness. The way he coyly tilts his head, resting it on his own shoulder. And I
need to remember the soft sigh of relief, of comfort and security. That simple exhale when his chest discovers mine. Our very own secret retreat.
Because these little things are what is worth writing down. And remembering. Because these little things, well,
they are the big things.
