last night

Last night I went in to check on Charlie after he had gone to sleep. I do this every night, but last night I stood by his crib a little bit longer than I usually do. I watched him breathe in and out, and noticed how his long eyelashes rested on those chubby cheeks. I watched his long legs twist from side to side, and how he'd rotate his binky over and over in his sleep. Max came in and stood by me for a minute or two, and I couldn't help but want to cry. This last week was tough. Honestly, Tuesday in particular I thought I just might die. Charlie and I have both been sick as dogs and I spent most days guzzling down Dayquil counting down the minutes until nap-time or bedtime. Max has been busier than usual, and has been gone all days most days as he gets ready for Step 1. It was actually one of the first times I actually thought to myself, I will never be able to have another child because this is too hard.

But last night I felt differently. Because instead of reading the stack of parenting toddler books, or stepping on blocks or cleaning up a never ending messy kitchen, I let myself forget all the stress for a minute and just feel how much I love this little boy. And it's not that I ever don't feel that way, but sometimes I let everything else get in the way. And not just for Charlie, but for Max too. So I just stood by his crib longer than I usually do, and let myself feel how much love I have for this family of mine.

I know they say these years go by in a blink, and I try to live consciously of that, but I'm not perfect at it nor do I expect I ever will be. But last night is worth writing down, because it reminded me (again) that what matters the most is what lasts the longest.

"Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach. T. Berry Brazelton. Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with 'Goodnight Moon' and 'Where the Wild Things Are,' they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories...

The biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make... I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of my children sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of a summer day... And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."
-Anna Quindlen