I love how you love our children. I love how you get up in the morning when Sebastian wakes up and go in to lay down with him so that he can sleep another half hour. So that he gets enough sleep to get through his busy day. And you too.
I love how you gulp down your coffee every morning while standing near us as we get breakfast ready and then you head out the door to work at the latest possible time. To spend one more minute with us. And I love how you race home on your bike every evening to get home and try to have dinner with us. As you open the kitchen door, Sebastian and Tallula get so excited, I think they would jump out of their chairs if they could.
I love how you make simple things fun, like changing nappies, meal times and everyone’s favourite, BATH time. No matter how tired Sebastian is, he always peps up for bath time because he knows you will help him float on his back and do blast offs. And teach him and Lula how to do slam dunks in the bath basketball set. Or spell words on the wall with the bath letters.
I love remembering the birth of both of our children and how amazing you were in those moments leading up to it and beyond. When you became a dad you had no idea what lie ahead (and neither did I!) but you embraced it whole heartedly and read Sebastian The Economist every night in the NICU when there was nothing else to read. When you reached for Tallula, moments after her birth and we both cried at how perfect it was.
I love how you reach back to hold Tallula’s hand at a stop light when she is feeling tired or sad and unhappy about being in her car seat. And even though I act over-protective, I love how you toss her up and make her giggle with pure delight. How you make Sebastian laugh so hard he is silent, from little boy jokes like who’s tooting and how loud. Or when you take him for a walk to calm him when nothing else can.
I love how you make our kids laugh. I love how you hold them close when they cry. I love the long -and short- conversations we have about our kids and about being parents. The adventures we have had and will continue to have.
I love you.
Happy Father’s Day to the best Papa-daddy around.
You rolled off the couch and onto the hard wood floor. You, who could not roll on your own. I picked you up in a flash and held you tight to my chest and cried huge tears, heaving breaths in between yours. It was your first fall. So unexpected. I cried because I wasn’t there to catch you. And I cried because I didn’t know if it would happen again. And it didn’t.
The first time you fell I scooped you up in my arms and bit my lip til it nearly bled trying not to cry. You buried your head in my chest, screaming a painful cry I had not yet heard from you. I looked down to check you were ok and when I saw the blood I couldn’t take it. I handed you to your papa-daddy and ran out of the room, crying and grabbing a cold wet wash cloth for your lip. Your tooth – your first tooth – had cut your lip. The skin was hanging down. My heart was breaking. You had just been sitting so happily on the kitchen floor and you leaned forward and lost your balance. I knew this was the first of many so I shed as many tears as I could to be stronger next time. And I was.
Linked up with Five Minute Friday.
Sometimes when I wake in the early hours of the morning, I recall a dream where you are doing something you cannot do. You are playing quietly in your room while we are sleeping. You crawl down the hallway to wake us up. You are walking in front of me down the sidewalk.
Sometimes I imagine you doing these things in my wake. I try to see you and your body different. I wonder how or if it would be different. If you didn’t have cerebral palsy.
Would you be taller? Would you weigh more? Would you have the same perfect, infectious smile or the same wild, sandy-blonde coloured hair? What would your voice sound like when you said my name? ‘Mama. I love you.’ Would it be soft and sweet like your big, open-mouthed kisses? Would you love me differently?
I wonder if you ever imagine yourself differently. Singing into a microphone toy like your sister. Climbing into our laps or jumping on your bed. Running freely to kick a ball. Shouting at your friends/teammates. Hugging. First.
It is not a longing. But a wonder. My mind imagines things that will not be. I love you as you are. My favourite little boy. In the whole wide world. My Sebastian.
Linked up with Five Minute Friday.