I want to remember...

Dear Cole:
I started to write this note on August 7. A month later, I still haven't had a chance to finish it. So forgive me for posting it as is. These memories are a work in progress; every month (day?) brings so many things that I don't want to forget, so I see these "I want to remember..." posts as ongoing installments.

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Dear Cole:
I think I need to let go of the idea that I can write some well thought-out letters here and instead simply start writing. You are nine months old now, and the time seems to be flying by—and with it, it carries away the memories that I so desperately want to hold on to.

I forgot just how busy the first year is—with its seemingly never-ending washing of bottles, feeding, sterilizing, laundry, packing lunches, making dinners, straightening up the house, minimizing the amount of crap on the carpet that you will most definitely put in your mouth, and so on. You are easy, so amazingly easy, so I am not complaining. Plus, I know that it will get easier as many of these tasks will fade away or become less urgent as time passes. It’s just that I wish the time wasn’t going quite so fast. I wish for more time to pause and savor the moment. Savor the time with you, your brother, our family.

So forgive me for the lack of eloquence and poorly constructed sentences. The fleeting nature of time is forcing me to choose between not writing at all and writing poorly—and I chose the latter. I choose to keep the memories, however ineloquent they may be.

I want to remember how you love to press your face against something when you sleep. In the bassinet, you always pressed your face against the side of it. You press your face against my breast when you fall asleep nursing. Because of this, you had a tough time transitioning to the crib without bumpers—there was nothing for you to press your face against, only the cold slats of the crib walls. Now that you can roll over, you sleep on your tummy, with your knees bent under your body and your face pressed against the mattress. This sleeping position worries us, but if we attempt to roll you onto your side, you immediately roll back onto your tummy, face flat against the mattress.

I want to remember how much you love to eat. You get so excited when you know you will get to nurse that your mouth comes wide open and your body wiggles in anticipation. I used to call you ‘my little piranha’ because you would latch on with such speed and intensity, regardless of whether I was ready. At one point, you even tried to latch on through my t-shirt. You share the same excitement for solid foods. You used to say ‘mmmmmm’ after every bite. When you watch us eat, you look at us so intently and smack your lips and tongue as if trying to taste it.

I want to remember how much you adore your brother. No one can make you laugh like Jon can, no one makes your eyes light up like he does. You always want to know what Jon is doing, your head spinning immediately when you hear his voice.

I want remember how you like to kick your legs when you sit. You sit with both of your legs bent, making a diamond shape—and you kick your legs by straightening them legs out, one in, one out, as fast as you can. You do that when you are excited or when you are frustrated. I wonder how you don’t get carpet burns on the outside of your feet from moving them so fast.

I want to remember how you ‘dance’ to the music. You sit on your bottom, and bounce your body up and down, as if there is a little spring in your diaper. It is adorable.

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That's where I left off a month ago. There is much more to come, I promise.
Love you, my sweet.
Your mama