Last night we were watching the DVD that we'd made for Sage's first birthday. Sawyer came in to watch and was excited to see pictures of himself. Even the ones where he's holding Sage.
So both kids get down and run into the hallway. Then Sawyer goes up to Sage and says "I love you Baby Sage" and gives her a big hug! Through my tears, I tell David to grab the video camera, and this is what we got.
Although, I have to say I gave myself a silent high-five earlier in the day when Sawyer smacked Sage - and she smacked him back! You go, girl!
...because Sawyer is full of whine by 9 a.m.! I mean, I can see whining by, say, right around lunch, when he's hungry. But 9? He's recently eaten breakfast, he got to watch some TV - can't he just hold off for another couple hours? And the pitch! Seriously! I know that mothers are genetically or evolutionarily wired to respond to a newborn's cry because we cannot take that sound for ONE MORE SECOND. But I really think the same goes for whine. Children must be blessed with the ability to find our last nerve and then trounce on it with that awful sound. Makes me want to run my nails over a chalkboard because the noise would be a welcome relief! You know what I'm saying??
The fuschia pants with the sparklies. The pink Gap velour sweatsuit. The teeny tiny white onesie we got at the hospital.
I am going through bins of Sage's old clothes, from newborn til now. I am having a ginormous garage sale to raise money for my marathon. So I'm sorting by size and by stain, and surprisingly, by sentimentality.
It is a slow process. Not just because of the sheer enormity of the job - YEGADS the child has a lot of clothes! - but in the emotions that accompany my task.
I hold each item in my hands like a butterfly, gently admiring as I think back to moments when my little girl wore them. The tears come. How can I sell these? How can I not keep this tangible evidence that yes, Sage was once this small, once demanded to be carried ALL day, once finally, finally smiled at me for the first time?
I don't remember being this attached over Sawyer's stuff. I sent all his clothes from 0-12 months to my friend E. She was having a boy, and already had a girl, so she sent me her daughter's stuff. Sure, I kept a few things, but most of it went to M. Who happened to be born the day after Sage.
The difference is that I was already pregnant with Sage. I knew I'd have another baby to dress, one who would wear pink and lavender and girly stuff instead of shirts with monster trucks and race cars.
Sage is likely my last. And so I mourn.
She is the age Sawyer was when she was born. They are 21 months apart, almost to the day. I can't even imagine having a newborn now. We joke that if she was the first, she'd be an only. It is a marker of time passed, though. She seems younger than he was at the same age: he was already in his "big boy" bed. He was speaking in sentences. He was happy most of the time, and, I now realize, relatively easy.
Sage was not. She wailed for her first 7 1/2 months. I told David during some of the worst of it, like when she cried for seven hours straight, that what made me most sad was that I had brought such an unhappy child into the world.
Selfishly, I feel I missed out. There weren't a lot of quiet moments, times when she would coo and belly laugh and was just happy to simply be. It was tough to savor my "last" moments of being a mommy to an infant.
Maybe I want one more chance.
David goes from being completely convinced that we're done to throwing me a little kernel of hope every now and again. Then I have to ask myself if I want another one because our family doesn't feel complete, or so that I can have one last baby to cuddle.