My shiny days

April 12th, 2008


But it also feels like this: shiny things, so many shiny things to gather and hoard in memory.


So many first things from you, my second son: your first smile, glittering and glowing, reflecting all the rays of the sun back at me. Oh, I swept down for that one. A coo and a sigh to tell me you’re awake. Small fingers in the middle of the night pulling at my shirt, grasping my finger, squeeze-release-squeeze-release until you drift back to sleep against my breast. The first time you pulled your bare foot into your mouth, your surprised and delighted eyes that you’d actually done it. Kicking and splashing in the bath, coming out smelling like water and lavendar and that scent that is simply you.


And last things from you, my first son: the last time I nursed you before bed-time, the two of us in your darkened room, quiet in the rocking chair in the corner. The last time you crawled into bed with us in the morning. The last time you came running calling “Ang au! Ang au!” in your mispronounced Swiss-English mix that only we understood meant “Me too! Me too!” The last time you said “Alllllll done!” at lunch. When was that, exactly, that last time? I have recorded all your first but these small simple lasts, they slip past me. It is their nature.


These days of your changings. You are running now, big one, down hills at full-tilt showing no fear and you, you little one, you are almost sitting up by yourself. All these things to hoard, giggles and smiles and kisses I want to put in a box. Days full of these shiny things. Yes, it also feels like this.