Sniff. Sniff.

Andrew came home today with 4 DVDs. He had our videos of our kids when they were little converted.

I couldn’t peel myself away from it.

The gurgling, the crying, the chewing the toys.

I saw their first birthdays. And birthday parties year after year. I saw them with their aunts and uncles and grandparents and great-grandparents.

We were at the zoo, the park, our backyard, our kitchen.

And my favorites? In the bathtub. I always loved my little boys playing in the bathtub. They were silly and funny and cute. And in some scenes, they had a friend or a cousin. Really? They could not be any cuter.

I love the part with my BFF’s daughter singing in the bathtub and my boys cheering her on. Too. Darn. Cute.

But after I smiled and teared up a bit and laughed, I had a very sad realization.

I don’t remember it all.

The way their voices sounded. The drool. The screeching. The slobbery kisses. The falling down. The way they talked to each other. How funny they were. How squishy they were. How disgusting they were when they ate. How exciting it was for them to see the penguins at the zoo the first time. How opening presents was the greatest adventure in life. Except for the slip and slide.

I forgot how little they were.

I love, love, love who they are now.

But now, I miss who they were. Just a little.

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6 thoughts on “Sniff. Sniff.

  1. My son is 19 months old now, and I already struggle with how little I remember. I’ll catch a link to an old video and go, “That was him? Really?” It makes me so grateful for what I’m capturing, but so sad how quickly it goes, and how little of what used to be stays with me in the face of what is.

  2. My daughter recently told us how she would love it if she and her brother could meet and hang out with the little versions of themselves.

    There is something to be said in defense of time travel.

    Sweet post.

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