Will I remember this moment? How absolutely perfect you are; how beautiful your little face is – chubby cheeks and a button nose; how you chuckle and hoot in your sleep; and how, when I place a hand on your chest to settle you, your tiny fingers wrap around mine, as if to reassure yourself that I am still there – urging me not to let go.
I won’t remember. Not everything. Not each moment like this. I will remember how gorgeous you are. I will remember that you have the most amazingly edible chubby cheeks, and that you make funny noises in your sleep – like a baby pterodactyl. But I won’t remember this exact moment, or the details of the many, many, other moments where I have sat happily for hours just staring at you and your sister as you sleep. This period of time – these amazing first few weeks/months of your life – will be remembered through a haze of love (and tears and all encompassing sleep deprivation). I know this because that is how I remember the first few weeks and months of your sister’s life – a part of my brain is built up of a blurry mess of memories of love, terror, exhaustion, tears more love and just so much more love. More love than I ever thought possible.
Before you arrived, I was scared that I couldn’t love you as much as I love your sister – that it simply was not humanly possible. Your Nanna tried to reassure me, but it wasn’t until I held you in my arms that I realised I needn’t have worried. It was like my heart grew twice as big in that instant, and from that moment on I have loved you both so much, and with such fierceness, that at times (all the time?!) it terrifies me.
Unless I document every day, and every feeling, I won’t remember every wonderful moment I am lucky enough to enjoy with you two little monkeys. I want to remember everything – every time your sister amazes me with her incredible imagination; her ever increasing vocabulary; or her ability to stun passers by who can’t believe this tall and eloquent little girl could possibly be just 2years old. I will remember, though, that you are both amazing and funny, and that you make every day better just by being you.
Right now, I am looking at you and your sister and I never want to forget this scene. This memory I will document. You’re fast asleep next to me in your sleepyhead and your sister has just woken up from her nap – still in her pjs with messy bed hair and sleep in her eyes. She’s all snuggly and warm after her nap and we’re all on the sofa. She’s drawn me a picture of squirrels eating nuts (apparently), after a short-lived moment of high energy when she was desperate to draw with her new washable pens. She’s now sitting next to us on the sofa, thumb in mouth and twiddling her toes (her new thing to sooth herself – it used to be twiddling her ear, and sometimes still is). I love you both so much it hurts. Sometimes you both annoy me so much it hurts. You’re too young yet to really piss me off – but you will do. I’ve got that to look forward to. Your sister manages it quite regularly. But no matter how annoying, loud or spiteful you and your sister are or will be, I will always love you more. And right now, in this moment, there is only love. The living room may look like we’ve been burgled, the laundry basket may be bulging at the seams and I may be bigger, wobblier and covered in more stretch marks than anyone might think possible … but frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.