August 15, 2012 by Heather
Coffee was made for mornings such as this. Coffee, and under-eye concealer.
I know I do a lot of bellyaching on here about the ups and downs of motherhood, and usually after I write a particularly depressing post about a rough day I feel a little guilty. Because honestly, for every rough day, there are a hundred billion amazing moments to make that one day seem obsolete (well, almost obsolete). I can’t tell you how many times I hold Parker or watch him and I try with all my might to burn that one moment into my mind to have for forever.
He turns three months old tomorrow! It has always annoyed me when I hear young mothers say things like, “Little Billy is four days old, where has all the time gone?” I mean, really? Come on. But while these past three months may have felt a little like three years, I can kind of see where those mothers are coming from. However, I am sooo happy that he is getting bigger and a little more independent. I can honestly say that I would not want to go back to those first few days or weeks. Those were some rough times. Let’s just say I didn’t quite bounce back like I thought I would. I’d like to know who coined that ridiculous phrase by the way. Probably a man. A man who deserves a swift and rather direct kick to the crotch. I’d like to see him bounce back from that.
Three months. Such a short amount of time for so much to happen. And while a lot of it has been difficult, I wish there was a way I could bottle it all up and store it for years down the road. So that when he is 16 and thinks I don’t know anything at all, I can go get my secret bottle of baby Parker memories and spritz a little on to help me deal with his teenage angst.
I want to remember his smell and how I just can’t breathe him in hard enough. The top of his head, the tip of his nose, the palms of his hands, the bottom of his tiny feet. Even the dark depths of his baby neck folds.
I want to remember the way he looks at me after he wakes up. It’s like I’m his favorite person in the world and he is just so excited to see me.
I want to remember the way fuzz gets trapped in between his little fingers. He’ll suck on his hand and then grab onto a blanket, which is where it comes from I’m guessing. I like to dig it out. It’s almost as fun as using the booger sucker.
I want to remember the way he opens his mouth and sort of shakes his head whenever I am getting him situated before he eats.
I want to remember how lonely he looked that first night in his crib.
I want to remember the look he gets when I give him a bath, like, “What in the world is happening?”
I want to remember how he curls his little tiny toes under when he sleeps.
I want to remember the way he looks when Andrew is holding him.
I want to remember the sounds he makes, the ooohs and aaahs, and how delicate his little voice is.
I want to remember what his naked bottom looks like in the mirror before I give him a bath.
I want to remember the way his yawns smell like warm milk.
I want to remember the way he grabs my hand whenever I put his pacifier in his mouth.
I want to remember how serious he looks when he sleeps, with his lips all puckered out.
I want to remember the way my hand perfectly fits around the back of his head and on his little bottom. The way it seems like his tiny body was formed to fit in my arms like a missing puzzle piece I never knew was missing until three months ago.
And, yes, I want to remember the bad days. The awful days that leave me wishing to be far, far away from motherhood. The teeth-vibrating screams. Trying to change his poopy diaper while he is kicking and fussing and grabbing his poop covered nuts with his hands. The times when I’ve done everything I can think of to soothe him but none of it works. The times when I cry in the shower because it just all seems like too much, and like I’m not enough to handle it.