I just left Lovebug's room. And my eyes are a little moist.
In the last couple of weeks she has taken huge milestones in her gross motor skills. She had been starting to lag in development, but as babies often do, she suddenly began crawling on all fours, could sit up on her own, and also pull herself to standing. The standing thing is still very new, and when she's up, she is never sure how to get herself back down.
She was in her bed screaming. Again. She had pulled herself to standing, but of course, did not know how to get back down (have I mentioned the word 'again' yet?). I finally relented and went in there to find this petite little girl standing in her crib clinging to the rails, her eyes barely managing to peek over the top bar with tears streaming down her chubby little cheeks. When she saw me a sudden wave of relief washed over that precious little face and a small smile began to spread, revealing her two little teeth (the second one brand new). I picked her up, changed her diaper, restarted her lullaby music, held her against my chest, and began to rock with her while standing. She sank her little head into my shoulder, clinging to the owl I had knit for her just prior to her birth. The owl that kept her company in the NICU when I could not. She was still and hushed in my arms and completely relaxed. She felt safe and secure and happy.
It is this moment that I wish I could put in a bottle and pull it back out whenever I need it. I want to be able to relive this moment with my Veda when she yells and screams at me that she hates me or tells me I am being "so unfair" when she enters her surly preteen years. I want to relive this moment when she gets her heart broken for the first time and I realize there is nothing I can do to make her feel better. I want to relive this moment when she leaves the house for college, graduates, gets married . . . I will always want to have this moment with my baby back.
But I cannot bottle this, or any other moment, and take it back out whenever I need to or want to. I only have my memories, which I can transcribe into words. And these words can be recorded in writing that may live for years and years. This is the only bottle I have, and I hope to keep filling it.
Monday/Tuesday: conversations - Yesterday... Amanda: Joshua, do you feel ok? Joshua: my problem is Dad. A: that Dad isn't here? J: yeah. Today... A: Joshua, what did you do at school toda...
7 hours ago