Eric is eight and a half months old now. He is sleeping at the moment. He has started sleeping four or five hours at a stretch alone in his crib. I am unprepared for how much I miss him. I can hear his little sighs on the monitor, the heavy breath of deep sleep. I am unprepared for this profound love. Unprepared for his innocence. I’ve seen it in other parents, the way they try to keep their children happy. Their kids seem spoiled and sullen. But are they just trying to recapture this time? This time where everything in the world is a source of joy to them? Will an ice cream cone do it? A Nintendo? A volkswagon? What is the magic combination that will make my child’s face light up and his arms reach up for me to hold him? What drug, what material possession could compare to the look on your baby’s face when he recognizes you when you get home from work? How can parents hurt their children?
I cut the label of his t-shirt that Helen, our realtor gave us when she came by to do our appraisal. I figured I'd stick it in the wash with the other new clothes. It is HUGE, but I realized that it’s an 18-24 month size, the size we’re buying these days. This time is so fleeting. I want to bottle these feelings to pull out when his voice changes and he rolls his eyes at me. When I am an embarrassment to him. I want to drink from that memory because I know this perfect time will pass. It will be replaced with something as wonderful, but I can't picture it yet. It's like a movie I've been waiting for, but I've only seen the previews.
this is terrifying sometimes. I have no idea what I did to deserve this flawless child, this cheerful little boy that rarely cries, sticks out his tongue when he's concentrating and communicates in a language made completely of raspberries. But here he is when I wake up in the morning whapping at my breasts grinning for his breakfast.
I watch my husband with him. He is the perfect father. He works too much, but when he's here he's all about the boy. My husband is big and goofy, sturdy and pragmatic, loving and loyal. I am grateful for my insane 20's that gave me the wisdom to grab at the chance for this family. Please, God, Buddah, Yaweh, Allah let me keep them safe.
I cut the label of his t-shirt that Helen, our realtor gave us when she came by to do our appraisal. I figured I'd stick it in the wash with the other new clothes. It is HUGE, but I realized that it’s an 18-24 month size, the size we’re buying these days. This time is so fleeting. I want to bottle these feelings to pull out when his voice changes and he rolls his eyes at me. When I am an embarrassment to him. I want to drink from that memory because I know this perfect time will pass. It will be replaced with something as wonderful, but I can't picture it yet. It's like a movie I've been waiting for, but I've only seen the previews.
this is terrifying sometimes. I have no idea what I did to deserve this flawless child, this cheerful little boy that rarely cries, sticks out his tongue when he's concentrating and communicates in a language made completely of raspberries. But here he is when I wake up in the morning whapping at my breasts grinning for his breakfast.
I watch my husband with him. He is the perfect father. He works too much, but when he's here he's all about the boy. My husband is big and goofy, sturdy and pragmatic, loving and loyal. I am grateful for my insane 20's that gave me the wisdom to grab at the chance for this family. Please, God, Buddah, Yaweh, Allah let me keep them safe.
posted by Margaret at 10:23 PM
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