Friday, September 2, 2011


Today. . .

. . .was the day that Will woke up at 5:40 and was ushered back into his room by his dada until there was a "first seven on his clock".
. . .was the day that we spent raspberry picking with our friends the Packs, covering our hands with the red tart juices, savoring the raspberries' sun-ripened goodness and basking in the sunshine.
. . .was the day that Will climbed on the farm's playground, complete with a pirate ship, and laughed the afternoon away, chasing his friends on his swift three-year-old legs.
. . .was the day that Will took a nap, snuggling his nigh-nigh tightly and looking as precious and calm as only sleep can bring.
. . .was the day that Will's dada woke him up from his nap, where he turned to his dada and said, "You are my favorite cousin" (a compliment in its highest form).
. . .was the day that we went swimming as a family, splashing in the water's weightlessness, jumping on the count of three and racing to the pool's edge and back again.
. . .was the day that we went to Hannaford after swimming, to grab a dinner of "chicken nuggets", fresh corn and hot bread (and don' t forget the free cookie).
. . .was the day that we sat at the dinner table, eating Will's favorite meal, when Will told us, "You are my best parents. I want to be with you forever and ever," only to be followed moments later by a, "I love you lots."
. . .was the day where Will ran out to help his dada mow the lawn, only to lose one precious "cwip-cwop" in the process, the priceless shoe torn to shreds by the lawn mower.
. . .was the first time I've seen my child so scared and so sad as he processed his first real loss (his flip flop).
. . .was the day that I dropped everything (dishes, clean-up, bedtime routine), to comfort my saddened son.
. . .was the day that I tucked in my sweet son, told him I loved him and would see him first thing in the morning, running my fingers through his coarse red hair, rubbing his back and snuggling him tight.
. . .was the day where I sat down and let myself cry, cry for the happy joy it is to be this boy's mom; cry for the blessings of motherhood; cry for the impending loss of this content family of three; cry for the excitement of bringing another baby home; cry for the nervousness that looms from thoughts of caring for another child; cry because I am so happy, so whole as a mother and how grateful I am I get to do this every day and how I wouldn't trade any of it for the world.


Danalin said...

Today is the day that your post made me cry. Today sounded like perfection - even in the imperfect (sad flip-flop) moments. Today is the day that I want to tell you that I totally understand the jumble of emotions that bringing another baby into your family brings. And today is the day that you should know the loss of your present perfection is totally worth it for your future family perfection. I sobbed when we dropped Max off on our way to the hospital because I was so worried about how it would rock his world and that things would never be the same....and they haven't. But today when Max left overnight with his Dad, he had to hug and kiss his sister 4 times before he could leave, and they hold hands when they do classes at the Y together, and they perform musicals in perfect harmony. It's a rad gift you are giving to that adorable little man. AND...I'm done. Sorry. We really should just chat on the phone sometime, then I wouldn't feel the need to leave these novel-length comments. :) Love you! You're amazing.

Sarah said...

This was so sweet and beautiful. It made me want to hug my baby tight, even though she was driving me crazy this morning. Thank you for sharing it!

Victoria Blanchard said...

Awwww (I really mean it, not being cheesy).

bluestocking mama said...

I remember those feelings--excitement for a new baby while also wondering why I was messing around with the wonderful family I already had. The knowing that Miles would not be my one and only and that he would know that and would he understand it, etc. etc.

Emily Christensen said...

OK you are making me cry too. You say it so well.