peas and toes

i was watching a video of M's first few days, one that we took at the hospital. she's practically a stranger. how can i have forgotten so much already (but not the birth part, thankyouverymuch)?

i try to remember what we've already gone through, but it's like an eraser is growing in my brain. kind of terrifying. i wonder if i forgot just as much of life before, but now care a bit more and am just frustrated? whatever.  not the point.

the things i do remember (so far):

dancing hands. 
i think she has my hands. long fingers. ever since week 1, she has put her arm in the air and twisted her hands like little ballerinas on the end of her wrists. when she's intentionally trying to touch or grasp something, she might as well be wearing boxing gloves, but the times when she's not thinking are the times where her hands dance.

peas and toes. 
her little toes are the size of sweet peas and just as delicious. she seems to always present her feet at the perfect place for kisses. i love baby feet.

noises.
she still doesn't really belly laugh. her laugh is so funny. like she's pushing it out but it's heavy. but she does a great "most annoying sound in the world." and i know it's not a word, but she does say "meh, meh, meh." which is "mama" in my ears.

toys
she likes them all. for 8.5 seconds, then she wants anything that isn't a toy. iPhone, pen, coffee cup, computer, remote control, vacuum cleaner, cat, stroller wheel, electric cords. now that she's crawling, it's an adventure. 

firsts. 
this is good. i remember first meal, first sit up, first crawl, first noises, first teeth, first sleep through the night, first airplane ride, first time she bit me on the nip, first day with the babysitter, first fall, first self-feeding face-stuffing. since there are so many firsts, it's good that something is staying in my brain.

 

melancholy hope

first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage (or similar).

what happens after the baby carriage?

the baby starts to grow up. fast. more quickly than it seems possible for time to pass.

this having of this baby has created for me a reflection of my own small life.

every time she has a first, for some reason, i feel a last. it's a grasping sort of finality: don't grow another inch, or i'm one day closer to a time where i won't be here for you. with you.

i can't imagine her not needing me, and when i see her grow out of one stage and into another it's a sad celebration. sad like a wedding.

being a parent is the absorption of another's well-being into your core. it's a crushing responsibility and a promise of endless anxiety. life is hard. life is painful. life is scary. and i've just given that gift of a life to someone else who can't protect themselves from anything - yet.

so all i want to do is protect her. all the time. from everything from boredom to abduction to raindrops. all i want to do is teach her. all the time. to be cautious but curious. brave but not fearless. soon she'll need to learn even more difficult lessons. i hope i am a good teacher.

i have always felt a underlying sense of the futility of existing, but it was somewhat abstract. there's plenty of time. i'm young. who cares. carpe diem.

she is the wake up call to my own unnerving outlook and the finite part. the part i like to ignore. shit.

i am learning to live with it again, but differently. just like i live with the constant ringing in my left ear. more and more i will work toward less 'who cares' and more 'make every moment matter.' this takes discipline, but if it isn't difficult, it probably isn't worth doing anyway. 

i'm not going to apologize for how i feel about this. or that it is depressing. or for writing it down.

i didn't expect this.

she is a part of her

there were nights when M was still waking up to nurse every three or four hours and i would have her in my arms, her baby head resting on my arm - back to sleep almost as quickly as she woke up. as much as i love sleep, i did love our alone nights.

looking down at her fine, just-growing-in hair reminded me of Grandma Hunt's short crop haircut.

at the end of her life, with Alzheimer's having taken the actual her from us years prior, Grandma had same little boy haircut, mostly because it was the easiest way to keep it since she couldn't take care of it. but she also had this little boy haircut because she was an innocent child.

sometimes M reminds me of Grandma when she turns her head a certain way or makes a specific little gesture.

i didn't expect this.