DAY 4 – My 30th Birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!
EVENT 1 – BOY
My son is fearless… either that or foolish enough to not realize that he’s in danger. He tries to run off docks into deep, frigid waters. He leaps from furniture blindly. He pulls fans off tables, looking for free haircuts. Typically he screams, “RORY!” just before he does it… just so you know what’s about to happen. See, typically, I’m there to catch him. Typically, I’ll be walking on the dock next to him, holding his hand. Typically, I’ll be lying on the floor and he’ll be jumping onto my chest (whether I expect it or not) but the events of yesterday… not so typical.
Animal has decided to start crawling out of his crib. He throws one leg over and then heaves himself up, up, up until gravity takes over and pulls him into his sister’s sleeping quarters… something she’s not entirely pleased about. Especially when he arrives in the night, throws her doll out of the crib, overpowers her blanket from her, throws it into his own and then slips back into his barracks. See, the girl can’t do it; she lacks the upper body strength. So she just screams and wails and then we finally just had to separate the cribs.
But then we realized that this kid was probably just days away from attempting to crawl out of his crib and onto the floor. Granted, there would be about a three and a half foot fall in the middle there but we were confident he was planning his moves. Well, yesterday we finally decided, “It’s time to pull the side of the crib off”. Let’s give him a Big Boy Bed and see what he does with it.
The results were magical. It was like Christmas had come early.
Both children began crawling up and down, up and down, up and down. They jumped on the bed. Screamed. Laid down, stood up, tested it out. This was a whole new bed!!! Nap time came around and we put The Boy in his Big Bed and The Girl into her Crib (something she was not very excited about) and then left. Listening by the door we could hear his little feet wandering around, playing with things and messing about but, roughly thirty minutes later, he had crawled back into bed and fallen fast asleep. Success!
Fast forward three hours later and I’m pulled out of an episode of The X-Files (Nerd Alert: I download them off the world wide web) by a loud THUNK! and then “AAAHHHH!” I rush through the house knowing exactly what’s happened. When I swing open the door, The Boy is running towards me, tears streaming down his face.
It’s funny that we were so afraid of him falling out of his bed that we took off one entire side of it. Looking back, it actually makes very little sense.
EVENT 2 – GIRL
The girl runs at me and I don’t even hear her coming. She’s like a snake in the grass… or a puma… or a cheetah (aren’t they the fast ones?). By the time she strikes, it’s too late; I haven’t had a chance to prep for it. She screams and lunges. She throws herself on me. She literally jumps into the air and with full force, throws her entire body mass onto my chest while I’m lying on my back. I cough and she laughs and I look at all the little teeth in her mouth. There are so many and they’re so white. I squeeze my daughter and I tell her that I love her and she stands up and body slams me again.
I’m afraid that I’ve forgotten more than I can ever remember… not just regarding my children but regarding my entire life. There are moments and events that have taken place that are completely gone to me and, even though I was there and experienced them, I will never recall again. This saddens me in ways I cannot properly express. I’m a sucker for childhoods (especially my own) and I hate that there are sleep overs that I can’t remember or dark summer evenings playing kickball in the empty lot that are gone to me for good. I hate it. And I hate that there are a hundred moments with my children that I treasure now that are slowly disappearing as well. I hate that I had 100 separate memories of the each of you in the hospital and now I can only remember a few. I remember the moment they brought each of you around the sheet; I remember the first time I laid eyes on your pink, screaming faces. I remember holding Quinn for an entire hour only to change her diaper and realize I had Rory (you looked very similar those first few days). I remember putting your one-sie on upside down and shoving your legs through the arm holes and your arms through the leg holes and wondering what the buttons were for around your neck. I remember putting you into the car for the first time and not having any idea what I was doing. I remember bringing you into the house for the first time and introducing you to the dogs… sort of. Then things get blurry.
I hate the blurriness; the stupid bad TV version of our memories. I want them all back. I want to DVR my memories. I want to burn them to disc and store them on a shelf and look through them when I need to. God, please let these letters be that. Please let me read these letters in 60 years and remember my children as they are today. Please let me keep this. Please let me remember Quinn’s body slams.