Growing, Growing, Gone

I wonder - is it normal to think about time everyday? Because I definitely do. I contemplate it's passage and marvel at how quickly the moments leave and never return. I love welcoming a fresh new day, and choosing how I'll spend its hours. But lately, I take issue with time for one reason: 

IT'S ACCELERATING.

Does it seem that way to anyone else?

 Maybe it's because as we age, each passing year represents a smaller and smaller portion of our lives. Maybe it's because as adults, we have license to do more than when we were growing up, and fuller days fly faster. I seriously just graduated high school, but somehow, my face is looking more and more like an old catcher's mitt. How did this happen?

Although, I don't think aging is completely culpable. No...for me, it's definitely these little boys that have quickened life's pace.

I'm a bit of a record keeper. Aside from this blog, I keep my personal journal, a journal to Asher, a journal to Preston, and separate baby books for each. I could certainly be better about writing, but they are all maintained with consistency. Because my real talent is forgetting. These accounts represent trappings of our lives which would otherwise be lost. It's such a comfort to hold on to our little details...the memories which will someday be "June roses in the December of our lives."

And pictures help too. 

Happy 5-month old Preston

 Oh stop it, I love you.

And who's this giant, slap bracelet-loving boy?

 

 

I mean, come on, Asher - three years old? Oh Ash. Our precious first. We only just brought you home, driving 15 miles an hour all the way. We still give slow drivers that benefit of the doubt. You, son, are a walking, talking - no. Running, screaming, miracle who insists on becoming a bigger boy each day. You may no longer be the baby we lovingly cradled, but I adore spending time with my smart, affectionate, fun-loving little boy. You won't always ask me to read you books or tell you stories, or make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You won't always welcome my kisses or wave to me from the top of the playground and shout, "I love you, mommy!" Yes, someday you'll shrink from our hugs, trading us in for friends, fast cars and girls.

 And while we're on the topic, please don't marry a crazy slut. Seriously, please.

And Preston. We still can't believe we actually have a living, breathing baby of our very own! At least for now. I've learned yogurt has a longer shelf life than babies...and since I'm intensely aware you won't stay little long, I relish every cuddle, kiss and squeeze. I try to breathe in every bit of your new baby sweetness that is evaporating so quickly. Your chubby cheeks are almost edible, and I love the way your downy head nuzzles into my shoulder, and your little fingers still wrap around ours. Your squeals and laughter fill us with such sublime sunshine, banishing every cloud and care. My heart starts to choke when I think of how short you'll be with us this way...but babies grow, and it's what I want for you, really.

Yes, it's want I want. But still hard to watch happen at such high speeds. So take it slow, tiny gentlemen.
And I'll take it in.