whispers, silhouettes and pictures

My sweet Ethan, you are asleep in your bed as I write this, dressed in mismatched pajamas, laying on your back with your right hand holding your hair. This is how you sleep most often now, always your right hand tucked into a lock of your messy, unruly golden waves. Despite the fact you're soundly sleeping just a few doors down a short hallway from where I sit, I see you everywhere. I see you in the stack of books piled up high next to the soft spot on the couch where we sit to read them, in the Curious George books tucked into the cushions. I see you in your pair of shoes you've ever so neatly arranged on top of your ride-on toy before you went to bed, preparing the scene for tomorrow morning's early bout of play. I can almost hear the pitter-patter of your feet running across the tile, your belly laughter erupting as you push your ride-on toy by the handles and watch your shoes fly off. This happens every morning, before or after breakfast depending on how hungry you are when you first roll out of bed.

These quiet nights belong to us and I feel like you know it, that you know how lonely I am when your daddy is still at work and the clock says it's almost tomorrow. These nights happen more than they don't these days and it's hard to keep my heart from weighing down when the nighttime falls and all becomes quiet, noisy silence ringing in my ears over the tune of your lullabies playing over the monitor. You keep the joy in my days, the surprise, the laughter, the life, the love -- all of it. When it's quiet at night, I sit in bed and I miss you, miss your laughter, miss the way you sputter out words as if all the vowels and consonants taste funny as they exit your lips. My sweet little boy, you're everywhere. You never let me feel alone, you never let me feel lonely, you never let me feel sad even when you don't realize it, even when you don't understand the magic in the way you shout mo-mee and throw your arms out towards me. These days I am not always mama but mo-mee, your own way of trying to master mommy and tripping over the intricacies of the word.

This morning we saw your doctor for your 18 month well visit. You checked out beautifully at 30 pounds on the dot and 33 and a half inches tall. We said our goodbyes and your doctor reminded us that this was it, that we wouldn't be back for any more well visits until you were two. It was a strange feeling -- initial sinking meeting nostalgia turned to pride -- to realize that you were too old for baby well-visits and weigh-ins and check-ups and now we had it down, you and I, we made it through the initial chaos of being born and finding our way.

In six months you will be two and I know this to be true not only because of the calendar but because of the little boy you're becoming, the way you know exactly what I'm thinking even before I say it, the way you shout "hand" and hold your hand up above your head for me to hold when we're in the car.

I'll be here to hold your hand forever, my sweet little one. You can always count on that.


  1. Your post made me tear up. I have a 19 month old and he is growing like a weed. I will miss these "baby" moments so much.

    Your son is adorable!

    The Pretty Pinhead

    1. Isn't it crazy how quickly the time flies and how fast the "baby" moments leave?! :(

      Thank you!

  2. Beautifully written and so nice that he'll always have this as a memory from you.

  3. Such a cute blog! Ethan is adorable! Found you through Aloha blog hop. Now following you on Google+! If you have a moment to stop by my new blog and follow back that would be wonderful! You can find me at http://dysfunctionsjunction.com

  4. This is why I love blogging - such a detailed post you'll cherish a lot in the future! Braden loves those George books too!

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