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It is not lost on me, that these precious years I will forever remember, are years you will later discount. Years you will have no memory of. Years you will describe as, ‘but I was only 2, so it doesn’t really count.’ Oh, but they count to me. These early days in which your voice is so high and light. These mornings and afternoons with which I try to carefully create a safe place, a loving place, an anchored place you can always return to as life gets bigger and harder. As you get bigger and harder. You won’t remember our easy mornings or afternoons spent at the playground, you won’t remember drawing Nana and Pa, or arguments over the TV, or how every single word you ever learnt was cheered by the proudest parents who believed completely in your evident genius. And kindness. And beauty. And uniqueness. You won’t remember how many times I checked you when you started sleeping in your own bedroom, or how many times your Dad got up to soothe you when you woke. But we will remember, until our dying days, how you smelt, the look on your face when you saw a plane (a helicopter, a hot air balloon, anything!) in the sky, your funny little words, and how you always said goodbye to the moon.
These years are ones that have changed me and your Dad, cracked everything wide open. You were a hand grenade we threw into the middle of a relationship, an apartment, a life, and as you grew, with frightening quickness, you pulled us along with you – are pulling us along with you, and you will never stop. No, it is not lost on me, that a time in my life that will always be so very, deeply significant, is a time of yours that you will know of only through photos and stories. A time that perhaps won’t feel as if it fully belongs to you, but instead was a time of your life you shared with us – with lucky, lucky us.
But that is okay. These years, these memories, they are are ours, Mummy and Daddy’s. They are for us to treasure, to fill, to round out. They are for us to use, so that we may learn how best to help you grow. My hope is simply that, during these early years, in which you are giving us so much joy, we are setting you up for the years that you will remember. And that they, too, will be filled with joy.
Karin@yumandmore
10 August, 2016 at 10:43 amDearest Liv, yes you have captured it exactly. I spent 3 years at home after Jasper was born. Later when Jasper was 8 and I traveled alot while my hubby and aupair took over, he asked why can’t you stay home more often? I said I spent the first 3 years staying home with you. He answered sure but I don’t remember that time. We sure do with all the fabulous moments it involved which you have so beautifully described. Thank you!
Fernando
10 August, 2016 at 12:47 pmThose years where you only sow seeds of love in their souls, cared with kisses, hugs and laughs and the biggest sun of the universe full of love, all for them. Most probably they will not remember those years but you can be sure that in their inner world, that world of love exists and that’s all it matters. Congratulations and thank you for those beautiful words
Michael P. Whelan
11 August, 2016 at 5:20 pmLiv This is so beautiful and as the parent of two college age children now I can completely relate. Your sharing of your heart and deepest emotions warms my own heart and fills me with respect and admiration for you.
May God Bless You and All of Your Loved Ones Always.
With Love and Thoughts Always,
Michael
Shen Ess
12 August, 2016 at 6:35 amLiv, I was reading this out loud to Ant and believe me I had to contain myself and hold back the lump in my throat not to cry. How beautiful! Absolutely beautiful <3
Shen xx
Christie Dietz (@asausagehastwo)
12 August, 2016 at 12:55 pmOh god Liv that made me CRY. (Must be the lack of sleep.) Beautifully, perfectly expressed.