Memoirs

You perch on my hip and clutch onto my shoulder. Sometimes you rest your chin against me. You are like a little bird.

I love it when you hold your hands together. They flail around and then they find each other. You hold your hands in front of your face and contemplate them.

There is yogurt everywhere. But you are bound and determined to be independent and you won't even let me look at you eat right now. My offer of help made you cry. You feel you must accomplish this on your own. So I dutifully turn my gaze so you can match spoon to strawberry yogurt and navigate it to your open mouth.

I can hear you reciting the alphabet in your crib to yourself.

Have I ever told you how proud I am that you were sleeping through the night at ten week? Proud.... or should I say eternally thankful?

You can stand now on your legs if someone holds you up by your armpits. You love to stand. I fear as soon as you can crawl I will never get to cuddle you again - you seem so eager to devour your world.

I'm trying to remember these moments, these days, these joys. I wish I could hold onto them. Already they are slipping through my fingers and sinking into the carpet like so much Alphabet pasta.