Tuesday, May 17, 2011

This time last year

I'm nursing Malcolm before his bedtime when Bob puts on Malcolm's lullabies and I start crying.

The music takes me back to our bedroom on the island.

To the first few days of Malcolm's life.

The memories squeeze my heart. I ache for that time. Such joy. Did it really happen?

The Putumayo music carries my thoughts further back.

To Malcolm in my womb.

Us on the island.

This time last year.

I looked like this:





And we lived here:



And it was an amazing time.

I loved being pregnant.

I loved living on the island.

And now I love this time with Malcolm actually here in our lives. Here. Now.


 So why am I crying?

Because I'll never have those first moments with Malcolm ever again.

Each day he grows more and more independent. 

He crawls now.

This time last year he was in my womb. Kicking me from the inside. And now he crawls away, squealing with glee. Playing chase.

I'll never be pregnant on an island with Malcolm ever again.

But I'll never have THIS time with him ever again, either.

So I cry.

Because I'm so grateful to have had such an amazing experience.

And I cry because it's gone.

I cry because I don't want to miss anything.

I cry because I know I will.

I cry because it's inevitable.

Malcolm will grow up.

I will look back on today, nursing him in our bedroom in this apartment in Chicago and I will miss today.

I will long for it.

I will try to put myself back in this moment- body and soul.

And I will fall short. And cry.

It's inevitable. It's life. This is how it is.

I cry because it's all too good.

My love for my son, for my family, for life is just too great to contain in a straight face.

Sometimes, like tonight,  it needs to escape. In big, sloppy tears.

This time last year was the best time of my life... thus far.

And this time this year. Now. Is the best time of my life... thus far.

Because of you.

Malcolm James Walker.

1 Comments:

Baby By The Sea said...

I so get this. I need to live more in the moment, appreciative of the hectic days. It's mind blowing how time races past. I've quit nursing, but long for the hours I used to spend on the couch staring at toes and hair wisps. We're through having babes, but miss the kicks from the inside, the wonder of the character growing inside.
I miss you pregnant on the island, too. The beautiful third-trimester-lawn-mowing girl.

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