I don’t know why our brains can’t remember the details of the good stuff. Actually, I do. I learned about it at a professional development meeting on trauma and stress. I hate staying late at work and being late to Millie, Wells, and Mawmaw. Alas, I did pick up one thing from the seemingly useless meeting; our brains remember the traumatic memories to best protect us and because our brain doesn’t need to protect us from the good stuff, it doesn’t retain it. What a load of crap.
Tonight’s good stuff is laying on the couch, way too late, on the Eve of a snow day. Wells is next to me, dream feeding, peacefully. His foot isn’t any bigger than my hand. His little body is so soft and squishable. I feel his legs and arms lay over mine. I listen to him breathe. I hold his hand and rub his back all while thinking about his future, who he will become, and how I fit in it. I pray over him and kiss him and tell him I love him.
As much as I want it to be, this blog post will never be the real thing. When I read this again, it’ll be because I’m missing my babies. I’m sad for future me. I’m sad because I know that I will want this time back. But for now, I sign off to live in the moment I have, no matter how fleeting it is, to hold my baby while he sleeps because my children are the greatest blessings of my entire life.