The daily humdrum, pulling, pushing like a wave going forward, surging; one day I will be able to sleep in but today, tomorrow your needs are calling, your sister’s, overlapping, multifarious, morning to night. Sometimes I am able to bask in the quiet, cradling you in my arms, fiercely, softly, the music lulling both of us away for awhile. Your cheeks, stay for a bit. Your sister’s is almost gone. Two little ducklings, you’re so beautiful. I am always proud of you. I was proud of you when your strong heartbeat, a little rhythm in me, came pushing through and I was proud when you learnt how to drink my milk, I was proud when you could unfurl your fingers and grab, I was proud when you could turn – your tiny, chubby body thrusting its might to the side to discover the world in bite sizes. I will always be proud of the both of you.
Your smiles, your gargling giggles, those baby sounds. One day you will speak and I might forget them. Every day for some moments I stare intently and try to memorise the nuances of your movements and your looks and your mutterings; one day they will all be blur. I cannot remember so much of how your sister was; the memories exist only like dots in a washed out landscape. I try to write it all down but where is the time? I am living the everyday, you are my life. That is enough perhaps. The impossibility to capture all the details make my heart ache but I remind myself that the humdrum is itself momentous. Grow up so I can discover you more; no, don’t grow up so soon. I miss you already. Seven months. You had me at hello.