Meditations from a busy month

I am gutted today, at news a family has lost their babies.  And as I try to regain some semblance of control over my emotions--the anxiety I feel, every time I hear something like this, that you too might be taken from me--I remember the advice I received: to focus on you, now, in the present, and the time I spend with you every day.  Of course, I was also told to record these interactions every day, so that I can remember the present, and take solace in its richness.

Thus follows the guilt at not doing this, at failing to record your daily growth, words, actions.  But as I write this, I wonder if immersing oneself in the present requires, in fact, a releasing of such recording.  If forcing myself to enjoy today today (and not tomorrow, or a year from now) is its own meditation.

That said, this blog is for you as much as for me, and even in these moments of mindfulness and presence and stillness, I want you to know how much you're growing.  That as we're heading into the long, busy months of summer, you are still changing every day.

For example, you now have just a solid mop of hair:

 



A couple weeks ago, you were sick with a 24-hour bug.  I had just returned from my last trip to Richmond, and getting to stay home with you the following day was such a reward.  I was sorry you felt so crummy but loved getting to snuggle with you.

 

You have three molars coming in--awful, sharp, painful-looking things--which has made you abnormally cranky recently.  I've also wondered if that accounts for your recent (unprecedented) pickiness with food.  In addition, you're fairly determined to do everything yourself these days, including feeding yourself, which has led to some frustrating meals.  But your determination is adorable.

Your Pop Pop and Bebe were on vacation last week, so you spent your week with babysitters, one of whom took you on all sorts of field trips.  You got to hug a kitty for the first time, and you met a baby goat!  Your minds (and ours) were blown.

I don't regret spending these weeks living in the moments with you.  I cherish each mindful morning, afternoon, and evening.  But there are some things I never want to forget.  The way your hair curls behind your ears and your neck.  You, walking on your toes everywhere.  How you like to snuggle in the mornings, your head on my shoulder, your fingers in your mouth.  Your crinkle-nosed grin.  Your intense obsession with books.  Your visible, bodily delight in all new things.