Remember this moment: As I chop up fruit and put away the dishes from lunch, I hear you racing around the kitchen. Then you stop and furiously take off all the magnets from the fridge. Or, at least, the ones in your reach. Clunk, clunk on the floor, one after another. Your off again, racing around and around from the kitchen to the living room, back to the kitchen.
I dump the chopped fruit in the blender for our after-lunch smoothie and turn to see you coming in to the kitchen from the dining room. The reason I can hear you running around so well is due to the stroller you're pushing about. No baby, just the stroller. And up on two wheels instead of four. You weren't interested in your lunch much today, but the moment I turned on the blender, you knew it meant we were having smoothies. And this time, you were interested in food. Food you'd never eat if I had chopped and given to you on your highchair tray.
I put two strays in the smoothie and sit on the kitchen floor next to where you stand. We both suck on separate straws, racing to eat up the delicious fruit, pressing our foreheads together.
Moments like this one, I want to remember. Forever.