I have been reading, lately.
Reading and reading and reading. Blogs upon blogs. Thousands of words.
I have read nearly the whole archive of Maddie, both ups and downs, great joy and utter despair.
I have followed the Countdown To Poppy’s 1st Birthday with laughter and smiles.
Layla Grace, Anissa, Cate, and Nic… such a small sampling of the blogs I enjoy.
Moms that know their children so well. That lovingly describe every detail of their lives. They know the essence of their children, their personalities and quirks. I studied Ronan this morning, wondering why I didn’t know him so thoroughly.
If something were ever to happen to him, what would I remember? Or years from now, when I look back, what will I have forgotten?
I would remember his blue eyes; so startlingly blue with the longest, blackest eyelashes you’ve ever seen.
I would remember his crooked grin, the smirk he gives when he’s trying SO hard no to smile.
I could never forget his giggle. That little belly laugh that can’t keep itself in.
His love for his daddy. His whole face lights up when daddy gets home from work. The room gets brighter.
I think about his serious expression, and how intently he learns. He watches, observes, soaks everything in.
He doesn’t like to share his emotions. He’ll play serious instead, until he can’t hold it any longer, and bust out his big-teeth smile.
I would remember his love of hugs, how he holds so tightly; I adore his little hand that pats you on the back.
His temper! My sweet angel boy has a temper to be reckoned with. And when something doesn’t go right, he isn’t afraid to let everyone know.
I love how Ronan mimics sounds, but not words. He can pitch perfect imitate the meow of our cat, and his “whistling” abilities are spot on… but we still don’t have a first real word.
I will always remember how much Ronan loves to ‘help’ me with the laundry. He’ll pick up a few articles of clothes, and carry them so proudly around the room, turning and bunching them as he ‘folds’ them for mommy.
Ronan can sit through a movie better than some kids twice his age. He’s got focus!
My sweet, rare, cherished kisses. So few and far between, so special because of it.
How he chatters when I get him up from his nap. I like to think he’s telling me about his dreams.
It hit me, finally, that there isn’t much I DON’T know about him.
I know my little boy. I know his attitudes, his likes, his fears. I can already see the man he is becoming in my mind. He changes so quickly, and I have to adjust, to learn what’s new, to try to keep up with him. But I know my boy – no longer my baby – almost as well as I know myself.
And that’s a comforting thing.
