Most days I am anxious for Avram to move on to the next milestone, to achieve new things. I am ready for him to be just a little bit older, to be able to do just a little bit more.
But then, there are days like today, moments like this morning, when I wish I could just freeze him in time. Moments I pray that my mind will serve me well and manage to wholly preserve.
These mornings are filled with images I pray my memory will keep close by: The moment I pick Ave up out of bed in the morning, and he wraps those little arms around my neck so tight. The serious-browed, puckered-lipped face he makes as he decides which piece of banana has the honor of being the first bite of breakfast. The tiny grunts and focused, busy hands as he tries to figure out a toy, the shriek of joy when he finds himself in the pantry (Where the Cheddar Bunnies are, of course. Who wouldn't shriek for joy?). The giddy smile on his face when he sees his dad's picture on the refrigerator, the happy "ba's" and "blllppss" I hear on the monitor when he wakes up from a nap, the loving reflex of running his chubby little fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, his uncontrollable giggles when Dad does something funny.
My only request of my mind, my memory, is that in it's hustle to move past the pain and frustrations and anxiety, that it remembers the good, the cuddles, the after-bath smell, the big sloppy kisses. So, someday, when he is walking and talking and graduating and shaving, I can call back not only all the bad times and hard work that it took to get us there, but all of the good times and happy days, too.