Don't let me forget.
With every babe we've been given, the reality grows stronger. I may not do this again. The magnitude of the gift, the fleeting moments of this crazy time. There are no guarantees. Only right now. I don't want to forget.
And I don't want to forget not just because I may not do it again but because I can't do you again. This is your time. The time of you. To soak in not just what a miracle it all is but the unique miracle that is you.
I want to remember the matching top crinkles of your sweet ears.
The dark fuzz of your shoulders and the softer than soft cheeks. The lips that beg to be kissed.
The loll of your head after a nurse and despite my attempts to fix what looks so uncomfortable, your return right back to that same position.
The mid-doze smiles and grimaces, random sighs and dainty squeaks. The softer than silk gloss of your newborn hair.
The wrinkles of your toes and the surprise in your eyes when your tiny limbs are let loose. The tiny remains of vernix trapped in a few creases.
The stork bite. The button of a nose. The lines of milk that dribble and dry to your chin.
Even the strange things. The reptilian peel of your newly born skin. The ridiculously long fingernails. The things that in fancy newborn photo shoots might be mourned or airbrushed out. Those too. I want them all.
They are you. This gift.
Even the hard things. The waves of melancholy and hormonal rushes that without warning sweep over my being. The afterpains. The sore engorgement and muscles that ache.
The toe-curl of a bad latch. The frustration of those moments when you root and snort though what you want is waiting right in front of you. Even the agony of a wave of labor as you came into this world. I don't want to forget. Because it was all you.
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