Thursday, August 12, 2010


I sat there tonight, rocking Sock to bed for the umpteenth time during this 4 month wakeful period. After cooing, laughing and squealng to me, he was asleep again, his tiny hand gently holding my thumb. I studied how my hand completely and loosely encircled his dimpled fingers, the bullseye to my target. I wanted to remember this perfectly. I kept wishing that I had a clone I could call to come and photograph our entwined hands, to blow it up in striking black and white so I could remember that moment as some emblem of all the times I rocked him to sleep. But sadly, my clone does not exist and the moment passed with his stirring.

Why so delirious with desire to remember a simple rocking? Because of Peanut -- who I also rocked to sleep and instead of promptly putting her down drowsy but awake as experts dictated, held longer than I "should" knowing those moments would pass. As I look at her 2 year old ever-more-independent self, I cannot remember those times as clearly as I want to. As much as I would sit there and study her sleeping face, basking in its gloriously chubby babyhood, trying to memorize every detail so I could recall it with laser-like precision years later, my memories have become hazy. I rely more on photographs than my own memories. I merely remember sitting there, holding her, with a burning desire to remember that moment forever.

And there are many other moments like that also blurred by time. New things happen each day that I fervently wish to lock away and keep fresh for future recollection: Peanut's face of glee upon seeing a chocolate mini cupcake, Sock's attempts to delay bedtime with his conversing, Peanut's trepid look of awe as the
sleeping beauty crown was placed on her head, Sock's display of ab strength that could shock the infomercial world based on sheer determination to sit, not lay back, thank you very much. All of these small but so precious moments will one day be hazy recollections too, as I hungrily try to drink in and memorize new moments of the day. I know that will happen. And I feel an incredible sadness for the imperfectness of my memories, almost like the death of a family member, both those having passed away and those memories that are to fade. But I know there is nothing to be done but further memorization work and study. And perhaps a blog entry to help jog my failing memory...

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