Worth a thousand words, or simply a memory in your mind
I miss writing. I miss having quiet opportunities each day to jot down silly happenings and little rants. I miss the over sharing, the offending, and the venting, but I have stopped beating myself up about it. I used to get really upset that I didn't write for a week or that I couldn't get my thoughts together when I actually had a moment to do so. And while I have stopped the upset, I still miss it.
So many nights I sit, rocking in the still of the night with a finally sleeping boy, blog posts and interesting ideas dancing in my head almost writing themselves. But as soon as I emerge from the darkness of his room into the light of the kitchen, my eyes squint, ideas float away and the only thing I can think about is getting an hour of sleep to myself before he awakens again.
So no, I haven't shared the silly bulldog vomiting story, or our Christmas adventures, or developmental milestones, struggles or joys. I haven't completed the letter I started writing for Caches' 2.5 year old un-birthday, yeah, he's two and a half!? When did that happen? I haven't edited the post I put a lot of heart into about adding a new baby to our family, and I haven't even shared a recent picture in months!
It is incredibly frustrating to have the ideas floating about but not be able to lasso them in and put the pen to paper as it were. I worry that memories will fade, that I will forget. Important things that I want to document and funny little tid-bits that make each day interesting. I have intentions of writing down a quick memory for each day of the year; I don't do it. I have intentions of taking more pictures; I don't do it.
Like at Caches' second birthday party where the cake I worked so hard on was half eaten by Lilly the night before. We still decorated it and put a candle on top. Or at the beach when the dogs and Ryan and Cache all line up as perfect silhouettes in the setting sun. Memories of his first word, his first hair cut (hasn't happened, phew) his first time sleeping all night (also hasn't happened). Maybe I'm not so far behind after all. But really, I lack hundreds of beautiful photographs and notes about these days and moments. Will I forget!? I panic. I want to remember, I think I remember. I do, I really do remember them, but nothing is tangible.
I remember waking up on his birthday and asking him how old he was. He raised one perfectly dimpled finger on each hand and grinned, TWO! I remember the moment when he was no longer afraid to put his bare feet in the sand. He had chipped purple toenail polish and his left big toe was bruised from dropping a can of tomatoes on it the week prior. I do remember!
I suppose you don't have to write everything down and document each and every happening with a story or a photograph in order to remember. I don't remember, per say, when Cache was a newborn. I don't vividly remember what his face looked like or the clothes he wore. I don't remember when his hair began to lighten and curl. I don't remember what his first food was or even what he wore to bed last night. Hell, I don't even remember what I ate for breakfast and that was only a few hours ago! But what I do remember, and what no amount of not writing it down can ever take away from me is how I feel, how I felt in each and every moment.
Because life isn't about the pictures you take or the silly happenings you remember to write down at the end of each day. Life is about all the living and loving you are doing in between. Sure, I could take out my iPhone and snap a picture each time he does something cute or looks particularly stunning in the sunlight. Or, I could simply look at him, I mean really look at him. Not through the lense of a camera or edited with words I choose to write, just him.
No photo to look pack on or story to read, only the warm feelings inside. Because at the end of the day when darkness falls and there is no computer screen to read, no camera to snap photos, and no light in which to see by, I can still inhale inhale his warm curls and feel his tiny chest rise and fall in rhythm with my own. In the dark of the night it is just me and the memories we've made dancing together in dreams. And I remember...
Oh, and here is a picture!! Damn, I'm on fire today!!
So many nights I sit, rocking in the still of the night with a finally sleeping boy, blog posts and interesting ideas dancing in my head almost writing themselves. But as soon as I emerge from the darkness of his room into the light of the kitchen, my eyes squint, ideas float away and the only thing I can think about is getting an hour of sleep to myself before he awakens again.
So no, I haven't shared the silly bulldog vomiting story, or our Christmas adventures, or developmental milestones, struggles or joys. I haven't completed the letter I started writing for Caches' 2.5 year old un-birthday, yeah, he's two and a half!? When did that happen? I haven't edited the post I put a lot of heart into about adding a new baby to our family, and I haven't even shared a recent picture in months!
It is incredibly frustrating to have the ideas floating about but not be able to lasso them in and put the pen to paper as it were. I worry that memories will fade, that I will forget. Important things that I want to document and funny little tid-bits that make each day interesting. I have intentions of writing down a quick memory for each day of the year; I don't do it. I have intentions of taking more pictures; I don't do it.
Like at Caches' second birthday party where the cake I worked so hard on was half eaten by Lilly the night before. We still decorated it and put a candle on top. Or at the beach when the dogs and Ryan and Cache all line up as perfect silhouettes in the setting sun. Memories of his first word, his first hair cut (hasn't happened, phew) his first time sleeping all night (also hasn't happened). Maybe I'm not so far behind after all. But really, I lack hundreds of beautiful photographs and notes about these days and moments. Will I forget!? I panic. I want to remember, I think I remember. I do, I really do remember them, but nothing is tangible.
I remember waking up on his birthday and asking him how old he was. He raised one perfectly dimpled finger on each hand and grinned, TWO! I remember the moment when he was no longer afraid to put his bare feet in the sand. He had chipped purple toenail polish and his left big toe was bruised from dropping a can of tomatoes on it the week prior. I do remember!
I suppose you don't have to write everything down and document each and every happening with a story or a photograph in order to remember. I don't remember, per say, when Cache was a newborn. I don't vividly remember what his face looked like or the clothes he wore. I don't remember when his hair began to lighten and curl. I don't remember what his first food was or even what he wore to bed last night. Hell, I don't even remember what I ate for breakfast and that was only a few hours ago! But what I do remember, and what no amount of not writing it down can ever take away from me is how I feel, how I felt in each and every moment.
Because life isn't about the pictures you take or the silly happenings you remember to write down at the end of each day. Life is about all the living and loving you are doing in between. Sure, I could take out my iPhone and snap a picture each time he does something cute or looks particularly stunning in the sunlight. Or, I could simply look at him, I mean really look at him. Not through the lense of a camera or edited with words I choose to write, just him.
No photo to look pack on or story to read, only the warm feelings inside. Because at the end of the day when darkness falls and there is no computer screen to read, no camera to snap photos, and no light in which to see by, I can still inhale inhale his warm curls and feel his tiny chest rise and fall in rhythm with my own. In the dark of the night it is just me and the memories we've made dancing together in dreams. And I remember...
Oh, and here is a picture!! Damn, I'm on fire today!!
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