I'll never forget that moment when you were placed on my chest and I looked right up at your dad as tears cascaded from the corners of my eyes.
So proud. He was, we were, so proud.
Your wrinkly feet, your head full of hair, your small pitiful cries. Every moment I wanted to swish an imaginary bottle through the air and seal it inside. So that from time to time I could twist off the cap just a little to be hit with the freshness of the memory.
Babies Don't Keep
We brought you home and had no idea how to put you into the carseat. You were so tiny and I marveled at you in the back seat in a Norco induced pain free state. Your dad drove so slow the 1.2 miles home and I was eager with anticipation to see Finn. Your dog big brother. I remember how light that car seat felt carrying you into the house.
Babies Don't Keep
I remember the hard nights. The nights you would cry and I would just plop down on the floor next to you in tears. A cry bond of sorts. I remember staying in my pajamas all day (one time I didn't even open the curtains!) and wondering how on earth I was ever going to feel confident taking you out of the house. Even though those were hard times. I wish I could have bottled them up.
Babies Don't Keep
At 16 days I decided it was time to leave the house. I bundled you up, strapped you in and off we went. Just you and me. You did so well and I was so happy. "I got this!" I thought to myself. But then I got overly confident and tried to take you to a restaurant at lunch while you were hungry. Bad move mom. Breastfeeding was still ummm...painful? I am pretty sure I was sweating on you while you were trying to latch while screaming your head off.
Babies Don't Keep
I watched you grow. And then we hit a milestone of smiles. Usually dad always got them (he is handsome so I don't blame you). When you gave them to me I melted. Finally I was not just a milk machine. I was a real life mama. Your mama. My mini. Mama & Mini.
Babies Don't Keep
Once we finally figured out a routine of sorts mama had to go back to work. I think I took it a bit harder than you. You started outgrowing your clothing. Cooing and laughing. My goodness you're growing so fast. Maybe it's because I am away from you for so much of the day but it seems rapid. Where is that imaginary memory bottle?
Babies Don't Keep
Yet how I wish nothing more for you. You are thriving. Growing. Learning new things everyday. You're still very much a baby and now I know you always will be. Mine. Ours. Forever.
Babies Don't Keep
14
So proud. He was, we were, so proud.
Your wrinkly feet, your head full of hair, your small pitiful cries. Every moment I wanted to swish an imaginary bottle through the air and seal it inside. So that from time to time I could twist off the cap just a little to be hit with the freshness of the memory.
Babies Don't Keep
We brought you home and had no idea how to put you into the carseat. You were so tiny and I marveled at you in the back seat in a Norco induced pain free state. Your dad drove so slow the 1.2 miles home and I was eager with anticipation to see Finn. Your dog big brother. I remember how light that car seat felt carrying you into the house.
Babies Don't Keep
I remember the hard nights. The nights you would cry and I would just plop down on the floor next to you in tears. A cry bond of sorts. I remember staying in my pajamas all day (one time I didn't even open the curtains!) and wondering how on earth I was ever going to feel confident taking you out of the house. Even though those were hard times. I wish I could have bottled them up.
Babies Don't Keep
At 16 days I decided it was time to leave the house. I bundled you up, strapped you in and off we went. Just you and me. You did so well and I was so happy. "I got this!" I thought to myself. But then I got overly confident and tried to take you to a restaurant at lunch while you were hungry. Bad move mom. Breastfeeding was still ummm...painful? I am pretty sure I was sweating on you while you were trying to latch while screaming your head off.
Babies Don't Keep
I watched you grow. And then we hit a milestone of smiles. Usually dad always got them (he is handsome so I don't blame you). When you gave them to me I melted. Finally I was not just a milk machine. I was a real life mama. Your mama. My mini. Mama & Mini.
Babies Don't Keep
Once we finally figured out a routine of sorts mama had to go back to work. I think I took it a bit harder than you. You started outgrowing your clothing. Cooing and laughing. My goodness you're growing so fast. Maybe it's because I am away from you for so much of the day but it seems rapid. Where is that imaginary memory bottle?
Babies Don't Keep
Yet how I wish nothing more for you. You are thriving. Growing. Learning new things everyday. You're still very much a baby and now I know you always will be. Mine. Ours. Forever.
Babies Don't Keep
