So, I’m in the middle of writing a post for Zoey’s birthday tomorrow. There’s some things that don’t quite fit in that post but that I don’t want to forget.
I want to remember how Zoey says “Thank you very much” when she hands me something she no longer want and how she grabs for my finger when we’re walking. I want to remember how when Zoey clunks her head, stubs her toe, or barely grazes her elbow on the table she pushes her bottom lip out and says, “Kiss please.” Once she has been kissed she nods her head and says, “That’s better.” She pats my cheek and pulls on my ears during story time before bed. I want to remember how it feels when she grants me a kiss — like silvery stars, like unicorns exist. I want to remember how her lips form a tiny ‘O’ when she sleeps. And how she flails around during the night so that her feet are over the bed rails and her shirt is up to her arm pits. I want to remember how she hugs me when she’s half asleep and her back is sweaty from the car. The pitch of her voice when she says “Mommy.” The exact temperature of her hand casually perched on my knee — like I’m just a bigger extension of her body. I want to remember how she looks scrawny in the bath and how she tilts her head back, eyes squinted shut, to let me rinse the shampoo from her hair. How she eats strawberries — with huge drippy bites and golden joy. I want to remember the soles of her feet. The tiny half moon birth mark on her lower back. The smell behind her ears. The tiny pink poke of a tongue as she makes faces at me. Her laugh. Yes, I always want to remember the trill of her child laugh — like the magic and surprise of a firefly cupped in my hand.