You’ve grown so much already in your 7.5 months. I see other newborn babies and while I remember you this way, I’m sad that the vividness of these moments will fade somewhat with time. I’m doing my best to enjoy the potency of our every day, while freeze framing certain moments in my heart, banking them in my mind, innate riches that I’ll carry with me always.
Hopefully these little gems will help me prevent feeling as though life is accelerating faster than I can appreciate it. Today I remember this:
We sit together in the living room. You’re on all fours raking at our rickety old fire guard, a precarious adornment that we don’t want to get rid of but probably should hook to the wall. I turn you around and like a tractor beam you’re drawn to our stereo remote. You taste it, but it’s not so tasty. You’ve rotated yet again and now have hold of daddy’s baseball, which sat cradled in the cavity of a floor candle. You knock the candle on its side and pursue the rolling ball with your arm. You’re intent on touching all you should not touch, fascinated by all that is my ordinary. The bald patch on the back of your head is finally fading. You’re wearing green trousers, sized 3 months. You’re chatting to the ball, ba ba ba. You’ve now got hold of the Devon rock from JBT with your name on it and are pushing it around the base of the fire guard alongside the ball. I decide that it’s time to scoop you up and kiss you and my hear t sings.
(Do you freeze frame memories too?)