Friday, February 19, 2016


I remember once, six-months-old, bawling in the shower because six-months felt like such a lifetime to me. It felt like the newborn days had left in a fury and I was left grasping at the smoke. And I remember, vividly, when Evan told me, "He's this much closer to saying I love you. And giving hugs and kisses." And it was true but I didn't believe it. Because good things do come with age. Like he's now a month and a week from being three and he has the curliest head of hair and says the funniest things and has full-on conversations with us about his life that he is living because he really is a tiny human and not just a baby anymore. And even though I sometimes wonder how we got here so fast, because I can still remember the exact moment of standing in my hospital room, the overflow one, with the window that looked out onto the roof, standing there in front of that little window and cradling his body in the very first onesie we ever bought him, the one we bought to bring him home in, the white and yellow one with giraffes and zebras on it that said "best friends," I remember that so vividly it could have happened an hour ago. It does feel like three years happened in an hour and I'm not sure how we stuffed a lifetime of memories in an hour, in three years, but we've done it and I'm thankful for it. I wouldn't change a thing except to ask time to slow down and give us more time before we hit three, before we hit four, before we lose these toddler years. I love them so. I love him so.

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