Reminiscing

For me, it’s easy to remember her as a baby. A little gloworm, wrapped up tight, screaming at the top of her lungs. I remember the smells of old milk on clothes and no-tears baby shampoo. I remember the rocking, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

What’s harder for me to recall, is the time after. The time when I finally started to sleep again. The time when she started to become a person, not just an abstract blob.

So I watch videos and look at pictures and remember how amazing it was (and still is) to watch her change. To watch her learn to talk and dance and sing. To watch a video where she has just learned the sounds that animals make, knowing now she can spell those animals names and will tell you what they eat and where they live. Back then she would say “moo” and we would clap with delight, our voices in a high pitched squeal at our little angel’s obvious smarts.

Now she claps for herself. When she gets it right, she is the one squealing. But I need to remember to squeal too. To clap and play and laugh out loud at a ridiculous volume. Because that’s how we got here in the first place.