End of a long weekend
And the end of Namblopomo! I had promised two days of substance, only before I realized that November, like September April and June, only has 30 days. So to end my month-long postathon, here are some thoughts that were floating around in my head as I was trying to get Amalia to sleep.
First of all, I am so so lucky to be able to be where I am, and doing what I'm doing. We are all healthy, happy, safe and sound in our little home, and we could not ask for anything more.
I was sitting in the darkness, bouncing and jiggling and cuddling an angry Amalia, trying to get her to calm down, suck on her pacifier and go to sleep. Through the door I could hear and see Domingo running around with Chris, laughing and talking, and playing the spoons, and asking his Papa to put on the blond curly wig I had borrowed from tia Hez for Halloween. I know there are people out there who are not "kid people", don't like children or babies, but I just do not get them. To me there really is nothing as wonderful and hilarious and frustrating and maddening and incredible as spending time with these two little guys.
As I type this Domingo is dumping out all of his little toys one by one while saying "fast, fast, fast, fast, fast!" and "look I'm flying up and up and up and UP!" I don't know if it's a race with himself to beat a personal best dumping record, or if he has to build maximum dump speed to take off.
But back to the dark room. It was only after I stopped looking at the clock, wondering how many more minutes it would take for Amalia to stop crying and go to sleep, only after I put both my feet up on the bed where I was sitting with her and closed my eyes, only after I stopped worrying about getting out of that room, and started enjoying being in that room with her that she relaxed and fell fast asleep. When I felt her little body shudder and heard her little shaky breath finally come out long and relaxed I opened my eyes to look at my sleeping daughter. She is breathtaking. Her perfect smooth round head, her chubby dimpled hands, her crinkly eyed full lipped sleep-smile, and her round little bottom resting heavily in my hand, are here for a fleeting moment. She practically grows as I look at her sleeping. Soon she'll be as fast and talkative and funny and exasperating as her older brother. And while a part of me can't wait for this, a part of me aches to know that this is it for this stage. She'll never have another first Thanksgiving, or Christmas. She'll never be 1 month or 2 or 3 again. Drink up eyes, take in all her chubby rolly sweetness now, before it's gone.
It's good that I have this blog to write down these moments of realization because otherwise, I might forget that I ever stopped to smell the baby, that I really did enjoy all the moments, good and less so, like I promise to do in all my monthday posts.
I can write down these little moments, and although I know part of the magic of memory is gone when I commit these thoughts and experiences to words on paper (or in this case screen) at least I can look back and know that it was real. These moments were real and not some crazy wonderful dream. It happened. I was a mother. I gave birth to her, was there and saw her tiny perfect form, and some day, maybe she'll do the same, and I hope to be there to write it down.
First of all, I am so so lucky to be able to be where I am, and doing what I'm doing. We are all healthy, happy, safe and sound in our little home, and we could not ask for anything more.
I was sitting in the darkness, bouncing and jiggling and cuddling an angry Amalia, trying to get her to calm down, suck on her pacifier and go to sleep. Through the door I could hear and see Domingo running around with Chris, laughing and talking, and playing the spoons, and asking his Papa to put on the blond curly wig I had borrowed from tia Hez for Halloween. I know there are people out there who are not "kid people", don't like children or babies, but I just do not get them. To me there really is nothing as wonderful and hilarious and frustrating and maddening and incredible as spending time with these two little guys.
As I type this Domingo is dumping out all of his little toys one by one while saying "fast, fast, fast, fast, fast!" and "look I'm flying up and up and up and UP!" I don't know if it's a race with himself to beat a personal best dumping record, or if he has to build maximum dump speed to take off.
But back to the dark room. It was only after I stopped looking at the clock, wondering how many more minutes it would take for Amalia to stop crying and go to sleep, only after I put both my feet up on the bed where I was sitting with her and closed my eyes, only after I stopped worrying about getting out of that room, and started enjoying being in that room with her that she relaxed and fell fast asleep. When I felt her little body shudder and heard her little shaky breath finally come out long and relaxed I opened my eyes to look at my sleeping daughter. She is breathtaking. Her perfect smooth round head, her chubby dimpled hands, her crinkly eyed full lipped sleep-smile, and her round little bottom resting heavily in my hand, are here for a fleeting moment. She practically grows as I look at her sleeping. Soon she'll be as fast and talkative and funny and exasperating as her older brother. And while a part of me can't wait for this, a part of me aches to know that this is it for this stage. She'll never have another first Thanksgiving, or Christmas. She'll never be 1 month or 2 or 3 again. Drink up eyes, take in all her chubby rolly sweetness now, before it's gone.
It's good that I have this blog to write down these moments of realization because otherwise, I might forget that I ever stopped to smell the baby, that I really did enjoy all the moments, good and less so, like I promise to do in all my monthday posts.
I can write down these little moments, and although I know part of the magic of memory is gone when I commit these thoughts and experiences to words on paper (or in this case screen) at least I can look back and know that it was real. These moments were real and not some crazy wonderful dream. It happened. I was a mother. I gave birth to her, was there and saw her tiny perfect form, and some day, maybe she'll do the same, and I hope to be there to write it down.
posted by Alice at
4:44 PM
3 Comments:
As someone who just saw her child become a parent, I am moved by what you've said here. It's a joy to look at your own little child, then almost a deeper, at least a different joy to see that child look with wonder at his own. What must it be to be a great-grandparent? :-)
I was looking for a little light reading and went to the blogs.And here I am weeping!! Everything you said is so true. Good to have the reminder
Alice, you've got such a way with words. Thanks for saying things the way the rest of us wish we could. What a beautiful post!
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