It hasn't even been 4 weeks since we brought you home. And every day seems to be the same cycle of eat, sleep, poop but at the same time, every day you seem to change. You sleep a little bit less, you make a little more eye contact, your legs seem just a little chubbier.
When we first brought you home, and you would get angry, you would put your arms up by your face like a boxer and just shake them. And sometimes, while you were sleeping, or particularly enjoying a meal, you would throw both your arms straight up over your head and wave them back and forth. Those newborn reflexes are already starting to disappear. And somehow I am stuck in this wierd place where i know the changes are good, and inevitable, but it still makes me a little bit sad to watch you grow out of them. And if I am this emotional about your newborn arm reflexes, just imagine how I am going to be when you learn to walk, or graduate from college.
I want to write everything down. I want to remember the way your father obsessively disinfected his hands every time he touched you, until a week went by and he got over it. I want to remember how we took you to the doctor for the first time, and how we spent the first week making sure you were still breathing. I want to remember us figuring out the trick of changing diapers without getting peed on and the one time your father was changing you and managed to let you pee in your own face. I want to remember every moment of cuteness and frustration, but if I spend the next five years writing everything down, I'm afraid I'll miss out on the opportunity to be making more memories. So, I'll do the best I can, and I know the most important things will stick.
We took you to Uncle Darren's for Easter this weekend. And when I needed to pick something up, everyone offered to keep an eye on you while Dad and I went to the store. We almost ran out of the house. But as we drove away, I could almost feel the imaginary string between our hearts stretching out. And I know, that God willing, that string will never break, but will continually stretch and grow, giving you all the independence you need to be a strong, healthy man, but always tethering you to a place of unconditional love.
When we first brought you home, and you would get angry, you would put your arms up by your face like a boxer and just shake them. And sometimes, while you were sleeping, or particularly enjoying a meal, you would throw both your arms straight up over your head and wave them back and forth. Those newborn reflexes are already starting to disappear. And somehow I am stuck in this wierd place where i know the changes are good, and inevitable, but it still makes me a little bit sad to watch you grow out of them. And if I am this emotional about your newborn arm reflexes, just imagine how I am going to be when you learn to walk, or graduate from college.
I want to write everything down. I want to remember the way your father obsessively disinfected his hands every time he touched you, until a week went by and he got over it. I want to remember how we took you to the doctor for the first time, and how we spent the first week making sure you were still breathing. I want to remember us figuring out the trick of changing diapers without getting peed on and the one time your father was changing you and managed to let you pee in your own face. I want to remember every moment of cuteness and frustration, but if I spend the next five years writing everything down, I'm afraid I'll miss out on the opportunity to be making more memories. So, I'll do the best I can, and I know the most important things will stick.
We took you to Uncle Darren's for Easter this weekend. And when I needed to pick something up, everyone offered to keep an eye on you while Dad and I went to the store. We almost ran out of the house. But as we drove away, I could almost feel the imaginary string between our hearts stretching out. And I know, that God willing, that string will never break, but will continually stretch and grow, giving you all the independence you need to be a strong, healthy man, but always tethering you to a place of unconditional love.
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