I've been very nostalgic the past week as we approach Roscoe's first birthday (this coming Monday. For real?). There've been lots of moments of just staring at him and remembering back on how he's changed in appearance over the past year. From coming out with a scrunched up old man face, to his skeleton-like long and lean structure, to his more current somewhat chubby (for him at least) and very handsome state.
Before he was born I used to wonder what he would look like. Would he look predominantly like Mark or me? Would it be a perfect mix? Would he be big or small? Would his temperament be wide open or subdued? What color eyes? All of it a mystery that my best attempts couldn't conjure up.
But now, when I get lost in those moments of staring at him as he plays on the floor with his toys, the sweet face that's become so familiar is the furthest possible thing from a mystery. It's actually the opposite. I look at him and feel as though we've always known each other. Like even though we only met face-to-face a year ago, he's been a part of me forever. Those beautiful blue eyes framed by thick curled lashes, that button nose, the way his lips contort into a curious smile or a mischievous grin or a frustrated cry. All of it is so....natural. So normal. So perfect and right. So..... always.
The best part is that when I'm lost and spinning uncontrollably in those moments, he usually looks up and me and we stare at each other for a moment, like we're thinking the same thing. Recognizing each other, affirming silently our bond that seems to transcend even time itself. And then he breaks it with a light-up-his-whole-face smile. It's typically accompanied by a squeal or other happy noise.
And, oh boy, those moments. They're the ones that seem to erase the power of every sleepless night, every puke-covered sheet, every poop-smeared mirror or article of clothing, every feeling of failure or inadequacy, every fear.
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