To my baby (8-month-old son Anthony)
I jot down quotes and memories in a journal on my nightstand. I’m nearly asleep as I recall the events of the day.
I want to remember. I want to remember your arms holding onto me as you drift to sleep, your little feet kicking against me.
I want to remember your bronze skin, a sign of the afternoons spent in the sun with your sister.
I want to remember how you scrunched your nose when you were happy, with a smile lighting up your whole face.
I want to remember your bright brown eyes and the way you watched people around you, taking in every detail.
I want to remember your fascination with Elmo and how you’d light up when you heard his song.
To my big girl (4-year-old daughter Violet)
I want to remember the time we spent together when your brother was napping.
I want to remember taking our lunch outside, soaking up the warm summer days.
I want to remember the times we got new Highlights magazines in the mail.
I want to remember the recipes we made from those magazines, making no-bake cookies and crafts from scraps of paper.
I want to remember the times you worked happily beside me, telling me that Cinderella cleaned her house too.
I want to remember your face lighting up when you saw me at preschool pickup. I want to remember your teacher telling you to get back in line and wait for mommy.
I want to remember the stories you chose before bedtime-the ones you wanted to read over and over; the stories of princesses and happy endings.
I want to remember the nicknames you gave characters in books and the way you’d laugh at those silly nicknames.
I want to remember the time at swim lessons when you overcame your fear of water, putting your face underwater, coming up for air, then going back down again.
I want to remember the first day we brought your brother home from the hospital, and you introduced him to the dog and cat.
I want to remember how you let everyone know he was YOUR baby
I want to remember how you bonded with your daddy; always a mommy’s girl, you decided to let daddy into your little world.
I want to remember the inside jokes you had with daddy and the “snuggy buggys” you’d share when daddy came home from work.
They say looking back, you only remember the good. I want to remember it all.
I want to remember the long nights I thought would never end and the big smiles in the morning that made me forget those nighttime hours.
I want to remember when you weren’t feeling well and wanted mommy to comfort you and make you feel better.
