cravings

Right now I am craving brownies.

However, I have recently lost 52 pounds (that number is embarrassingly high) by NOT eating things like brownies, so I will have a slice of sprouted wheat toast with peanut butter and sliced banana on top. 180 calories. 

But maybe tomorrow I will convince Justin to take me to Great Harvest to get one of their to-die-for brownies that I will buy intending to only eat a few bites and end up eating most of the whole thing right there in the store. And I'll watch Audrey put butter on her own thick crumbly slice of cinnaburst (her favorite) and I'll feed bites of chewy chocolate into Davy's waiting mouth. Or maybe not. I shouldn't. Is it weird that I daydream about carbs?

Today I noticed that Davy's two front teeth are coming in a little crooked. And I think that's adorable. I just know it will only enhance his already charming, messy, crazy, happy little boy persona.

I dedicate my time these days to soaking up the last of his babyhood. I can feel it slipping away. And I want to remember what it sounds like when he runs down the hall with only one sock on: muffled step, slap, muffled step, slap. I want to remember how serious he gets when I hand him his little cup of cheerios and how he runs to the dishwasher to get a spoon out to stir and eat them. I need to capture in my mind the image of the cheesy, squinty eyed grin that he gives me as he lifts his chubby arms to be picked up from the floor, and the way he runs to the corner next to the bookshelf when he gets in trouble. Even last night I scooped him up out of bed while he was still asleep and his little head tipped back and his hands came up to his body in little fists and I thought "I have to remember this."

But I know that it's futile. The blogging and the thousands of pictures help, but no matter how furiously I document, and how many daily facts and stories I dutifully inscribe in his baby book it will never be the same as it is now. I'll look back and be shocked at how little he was, amazed that the grown up boy that I look at daily could ever have been so chubby and squishy.

I know because of Audrey. I missed out on the first three months of her life and then the rest of her tiny time flew by. Although I did cherish every moment with her (infertility will do that to you) I wasn't able to comprehend how quickly she would turn into this beautiful, lithe, smart, inquisitive, girl. And yet, even though she is so big to me now- opening her own car door and buckling her own seat belt, asking questions that make me pause before I answer them, making her own toast- I know that I'll experience the same phenomenon in just a few years again: "How could she be so young?" "Remember when Audrey was only 4 and asked about her birthday every single day?" These will be the questions that I'll ask myself.

Is this the ultimate paradox of motherhood then? Trying to stop the constant sway of time all the while helping to move it along? Wanting to stop them in their tracks, to keep them just the way they are while encouraging them to grow and teaching them new skills? It's bittersweet, for sure. And it keeps me constantly anxious and perplexed.

I think we'll go for that brownie.