Remember this moment: I woke up at the ripe hour of 5pm last Sunday, recovering from a week of overnight shifts and sleep deprivation. I groggily walked out of the bedroom and into the living room where you and daddy were playing. Books and objects scattered everywhere. Pots and pans and spatulas, you’re favorite ‘toys’ right now.

You gave me a look of excitement when you saw I was no longer sleeping, but it doesn’t last long. You’re so busy these days, so I’m not offended. Instead I tried to give you a quick hug or squeeze your shoulder or run my fingers through your thin blonde hairs as you run off – I’m not sure which I chose that day – then sat down on the couch while I continued to wake up for the day/night.

That’s when daddy offered to make me coffee. Never do either of us grind up coffee beans alone anymore. Nope, for months you’ve wanted to help turn the grinder on, even tap the sides and shake it to make sure all the grounds are grinded properly.

You’re such a helper. I don’t want to forget that.

Remember this moment: When I think back on my own childhood, I can specifically remember one morning, one summer, when I woke up and put on my favorite dress (actually I had two; one purple, one pink).  My sister, my mom and I sat out on the deck in the sun.  It’s a blurry memory in my head, and through the fuzziness all I can remember is that my mom was laying in a lawn chair tanning and my sister and I had our dolls out there as well.  I can, however, remember the feeling.  We had no plans (or none that my 9 year old mind was aware of), no where to be, nowhere to go, just the three of us relaxing and playing on the deck.

Why is it this single morning that sticks out in my head so much?

I wonder which moments will get trapped in Ephram’s memories for years to come.  I have no control over which ones do, but I hope it’s ones like these.  On this morning, Beau was searching online for one of the last discounted HP Touchpads and I had just gotten back from a morning run.  We had no plans really, just to enjoy the day.  Ephram pushed his stroller around the basement (an everyday occurrence) while walking in my slippers.  There was nothing special about the day, except the fact that us three were together; no plans.  But I hope the feeling of love and contentment made its way into Ephram’s head and stays in his memories for years to come.

Remember this moment: They say that as your child grows, it never gets easier, it just becomes different. I never doubted it, but I didn’t truly understand it back when I first heard this around the time that Ephram was born. The sleepless nights, the constant need for you to hold them, the spit up. Those newborn days pass quickly and your daily challenges transition to figuring out nap schedules, cleaning up food, and making the house baby proof (at least from the knee down). Right now, with Ephram nearly at 18 month of age, we’re dealing with food pickiness, tantrums, and baby proofing the house from my waist down. Every stage brings about its own challenges.

Though with all the challenges comes new delights as well. At the newborn stage, it was the smiles. As he grew older, it was the ability to crawl right into my lap. And now, at 18 months, it is the ability for Ephram to understand words/questions. Everyday he understands something new. My favorite “trick” is when we ask him to throw something in the garbage — usually his wrapped up dirty diaper after a changing or a clump of cat hair. Each time he does it, he claps his hands, as in ‘Good Job.’ I love it.

Though, of course, the inevitable challenge has been to make sure nothing but garbage gets thrown away. :)

Remember this moment: You were playing so well in the basement, while your dad and I relaxed and happened to catch a special on PBS about gorillas. It must be mentioned that when you saw those gorillas, you made your doggy noise and ran to the tv to touch them. But then you went back to running around the basement, distributing toys across the room, and making various noises.

When the program on gorillas ended, your dad and I looked at one another. That’s when he said it: “Let’s go to the park.” We suggested to you that we get your shoes on and we were out the door. Since the park is close by, we let you walk. Holding our hands was the last thing on your mind. You wanted to run, and run you did, not even sure of where we were headed. I guess park isn’t a word you quite grasp yet.

Dad picked you up and set you on the playground equipment, offering help when you needed it. Ever since Spring we’ve had to hold you while you rode down slides. We’ve sat you on our laps, we’ve held your hand, we’ve caught you at the bottom. But not this time. I snapped away with my camera, enjoying the gorgeous setting sunlight while dad watched you from the bottom of the slide, and you slid down all by yourself. A small feat in this world, but at 16 months of age, we were quite proud. And I think you were too.

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.