Ah, the memories

Chris tells me all the time that as the mom to a little boy, I am Kostyn’s first and longest love. I’m sure that when he’s grown and left the nest he will feel a special bond with me, a sense of safety in my arms. Perhaps when he looks into my eyes he’ll even have a vague, subconscious memory of the tender loving care I gave him in these first months of his life.

But he won’t remember the everyday stuff. He won’t remember the clothes I washed, dried, hung on tiny hangers, wriggled onto his body, snapped and unsnapped, snapped and unsnapped, snapped and unsnapped, sprayed with stain remover, and washed again.

He won’t recall the hours we spent at the grocery store as I hemmed and hawed over every decision on what to buy for him. Aisle after aisle, should I get the whole grain crackers? Are those really whole grain? What about whole wheat? Butter flavored? Mini size? The ones marketed to toddlers? Low salt? No salt? Will he hate those? I’d hate those. I’d like these. But he shouldn’t have these....

He won’t remember me stumbling into his room at 1:30 a.m. to comfort him when he cries. Or sitting with him from 2:30 until 4:15 a.m. when he can’t get back to sleep. Or getting up again to nurse him at 5 am when he wakes yet a third time in one night.

I WISH he’d remember the meals. Steaming and cutting veggies, preparing tiny pasta shells with organic cheese, dicing fresh and frozen fruit, preparing whole milk yogurt with no-sugar-added all-fruit preserves...only to watch half of it end up in his bib or thrown on the floor, every meal ending the same way — with me on my hands and knees, retrieving whatever bits of my hard work the dog didn’t even see fit to eat.

Nope. Won’t remember any of it. Here’s what he will remember: Everything his Daddy did for, to and with him. Every gift Daddy gave him, every trip they took, and every silly inside joke they shared.

The great thing about parenthood is that if you had a great childhood, you get to relive it through the eyes of your kid. And if you had a sucky childhood, you get a giant ‘do over.’ You can choose to take your life, and your child’s, in a totally different direction than the one from which you came. Kostyn is blessed with a dad whose childhood was so magical he wants to relive it.
And relive it he shall.

And really, nothing could make me happier. I will always remember our mother-son stuff. But I want Kostyn to remember the father-son stuff. And it warms my heart to know he’s got a dad who will make sure that happens.



Chris was playing a little wooden flute for Kostyn, so Kostyn decided to "play" his drumstick. Gotta be like Daddy....