I'm sitting on a messy bed listening to the sound of the ocean repeat over and over on sound machines, one in August's room, one in the living room with Cordelia. Every night, this is what I hear. If I'm lucky, this is all I hear. Most nights, there is also coughing or crying or loud neighbors. Tonight it is mostly quiet.
August has been in his toddler (aka "big boy") bed for a month now, and over this same month he has changed SO much. He is infuriating, but so wonderful as well. Tonight we told him he could watch one episode of Dora before bed if he was obedient, ate a good dinner, etc. During dinner, he started pretending as if he'd eaten all of his food: "All gone!" he'd exclaim while looking at bowls full of food. And then he'd laugh at himself.
These are the most precious days. Yesterday was the first day he got out of bed by himself and came into our room in the morning. He did it at the proper time (after the bunny on his alarm clock woke up) and we were so proud of him. (We are trying to train him to do this without needing us so that he can quietly exit the bedroom to allow Cordelia to continue sleeping.) Last night he came into our room around midnight, said "Hi," climbed into bed, and laid down next to my legs. I was half asleep, and while I'm usually firm about such clear violations of rules, I couldn't bring myself to move him. I didn't do a thing, I just laid there, enjoying the fact that my baby had just gotten out of bed, walked himself over to our room, climbed into our bed, and laid himself down at my feet. (That sentence just made me sob.) Josh took him back to bed.
You know the people who say, "Soak up every minute; it'll be gone before you know it"? To them, I would like to say, "I am saturated. I cannot soak up another drop."
And I mean this. There are moments when I am so overwhelmed by the wonder of my children that I have to distract myself or else I feel as if I might be crushed. Of course, there are those other moments when I feel I might burst in anger, but those are not the ones I want to remember tonight.
Tonight I want to remember the moments I go to Cordelia when she has woken up after a good sleep and she gives me the biggest grin as my face hovers over her crib.
I want to remember the moments August leans his head on my arm and says, "I wuv you."
I want to remember the moments August sees Cordelia after a day of preschool and says, "Cordy!" and runs up to hug attack/kiss her. She is so tolerant.
These are truly the golden days. In twenty years we will look back and cherish the years in which we filled this cramped apartment with life and love and mess. Right now we want more -- space, time, money, patience. But we have enough; we have an abundance.