Well the Ayes have it. Yay! But Brian says if I put breastmilk in it he won’t want to eat any of the other popsicles that come out of it. Like breastmilk is some toxic substance that can’t be washed away. Um, no, it’s MIRACULOUS! Have you heard it cures pinkeye!? lol. Fine though, more for me and Lola and my nephew.
So, Corbin doesn’t quite roll over yet, though he’s getting pretty close. Well, I pulled out Lola’s baby book yesterday to see when SHE rolled over- weeks ago! (The thing about the kids sharing a birthday is that I don’t see March 2nd and have to do math. March 2nd for Lola is March 2nd for Corbin. This shared birthday thing is SO WEIRD to me!) So I know I know I know, I’m a terrible person for comparing my children to each other. I’m not the only one who’s ever done that though, right? But Lola was really ahead of the curve as a baby, and maybe Corbin’s not*. And that’s okay. He’s not even EXPECTED to roll over yet. By anyone but me.
Then I kept reading through the book and all my exciting recording of her every activity. Like when she started making baby babbles. But I can’t remember the sound. I remember it happening, but it’s vague. The sound isn’t clear in my head.
The other day I was talking to someone about that rough stage where your baby figures out how to stand up in her crib, thus making nighttime more difficult for a while. And I can remember Lola doing this. I can remember being frustrated by it at the time. But I can’t specifically picture it in my minds eye. It’s not photo-clear. It’s more of an impression on my heart.
And all the while, Corbin’s starting all his growing and changing. It is so clear and perfect, and I feel like I MUST remember it forever. Exactly as it is now. I want to be 50 years old and still be able to feel his little fist wrapped around my finger while he’s nursing. But I can’t feel Lola’s there anymore.
Is this just me? Perhaps I have a terrible memory. I’m sometimes surprised by how few memories I have of my own life.
How can this be? How can we be expected to carry these beings and raise them and give our whole selves to them and then let them go…and then not even be able to have EVERY MOMENT of it like a perfect movie playing in our heads forever? That’s too cruel.
Will there someday be a day when I don’t remember Lola, yesterday, coming to give me a hug smelling faintly of yogurt with her small smattering of freckles just on her nose, and her unkempt hair with the shades of blonde and the fringe of bangs, and her pale pale blue eyes that are the exact physical manifestation of the word happiness?
Will I recall the joy of holding my baby boy, but be unable to feel the curve of his back and the swell of my heart?
I take note and I try to burn them into my consciousness. I don’t know if I did that before Corbin came, and Lola turned into a kid and not a toddler anymore, and I came face to face with the shocking realization of how fast it all is. But even as I type this I know that one day I will have to work hard to remember, and I’ll long like crazy to have these difficult days back. These days that feel like it’s just too hard and we can’t catch a damn break to save our lives. I’ll be the annoying mom saying “when are you going to give me some grandbabies?” so I can try to recapture this perfection. And in the meantime, I’ll keep trying to stuff these moments into my heart and hope that some of them will stay there, perfectly preserved.
*I’ll tell you where he’s WAY ahead of the curve: drool production. If that were a competition, we’d have huge trophies. Lola was the same way. I mentioned it to the pediatrician who said, “all kids drool, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it sound.” And by the end of the visit even HE was impressed by the sheer amount of saliva my child produced. Corbin’s the same. And not even teething yet.
Also, Dear God if there is one place where Corbin can be ahead of Lola PEASE let it be potty training! I can’t do this again!!!