I don’t want to forget …
Cal’s windshield wiper feet, when he’s excited they sashay back and forth; the yoga “downward dog” pose he’s suddenly acquired and keeps practicing to great hilarity; how he uses our sprawled out bodies as a way to get up on his feet and stand and how I secretly love it because it’s a way to get some rest; catching his gaze and looking into his eyes as if I’d never looked at anyone before; while rocking him to sleep, resting my chin on his fuzz head and him not minding; loving and resenting my status as the parent with the magic sleep touch; how he cemented his crawl technique on his 8-month birthday; his giggles before bed and frantic splashing in the bath tub; Ggma’s constant stream of $2 bills; how he’s started sleeping like a frog on his belly, legs and feet folded neatly under him; his determination to get anything that lights up and has buttons into his mouth; how Shaun says “I always know how to make him smile,” and how I think he’s right; his ticklish belly and thighs; how his squeals shatter silences; his quiet curiosity; his discovering the crinkly beauty of dead leaves, pinching and rolling them around in his fingers; how he raises his hands and grunts to be picked up, and then becomes quiet and contented in my arms; the moment we reunite after a long day at the office.
Because of course, all this will change tomorrow.
Cal’s windshield wiper feet, when he’s excited they sashay back and forth; the yoga “downward dog” pose he’s suddenly acquired and keeps practicing to great hilarity; how he uses our sprawled out bodies as a way to get up on his feet and stand and how I secretly love it because it’s a way to get some rest; catching his gaze and looking into his eyes as if I’d never looked at anyone before; while rocking him to sleep, resting my chin on his fuzz head and him not minding; loving and resenting my status as the parent with the magic sleep touch; how he cemented his crawl technique on his 8-month birthday; his giggles before bed and frantic splashing in the bath tub; Ggma’s constant stream of $2 bills; how he’s started sleeping like a frog on his belly, legs and feet folded neatly under him; his determination to get anything that lights up and has buttons into his mouth; how Shaun says “I always know how to make him smile,” and how I think he’s right; his ticklish belly and thighs; how his squeals shatter silences; his quiet curiosity; his discovering the crinkly beauty of dead leaves, pinching and rolling them around in his fingers; how he raises his hands and grunts to be picked up, and then becomes quiet and contented in my arms; the moment we reunite after a long day at the office.
Because of course, all this will change tomorrow.
