Blades of grass

As for man, his days are like grass-- he blooms like a flower of the field; when the wind passes over it, it vanishes, and its place is no longer known. Psalm 103:15-16

Today Ben and I took the kids up to see my grandparents in the Poconos. They hadn't had a chance to meet Joshua yet, and we were glad to be able to spend the day with them. I always enjoy getting to see them, as it brings back warm memories of childhood summers spent in the mountains baking brownies with my Grandma and riding tractors with my Pop Pop. And of course, listening to stories of the past, told in that special way only grandparents know how to do. 

Today, as I sat nursing my chubby baby boy, my grandma told me about the days when she was raising her four babies. She remarked at how different things are now, with the new nursing covers that allow women to nurse their babies discreetly in public. She said that in her day women were expected to nurse in private. She told me about a party she attended after having her first baby, and how she had to go into a back bedroom to feed him away from the other guests, and that at one point a small boy wandered into the room, about five or six years old, and couldn't believe what he saw! When he rejoined the party someone asked him what he had seen and he said, "That baby is eating Pat!" She laughed as she told the story, remembering it like it was yesterday instead of almost sixty years ago. As she looked at me holding my baby, it made her think back to the days when she had her babies, and I realized just how quickly time must have passed for her. 

When I was pregnant with Josh, many mothers told me how time passes so much more quickly with your second child than your first. I didn't know what they meant until Josh arrived. Now I've hardly blinked and he is already 3 months old. I suppose that's how my Grandma feels... she's hardly blinked now she's holding her great-grandson. 

I know it's unrealistic to cherish every moment, life just isn't that easy. But I do so wish I could capture and describe and forever remember the most precious moments with my babies. The way they look when they fall asleep, so peaceful, so beautiful. And the way their eyes crinkle when they smile. And the sound of the laughter that comes from deep in their bellies when I tickle them. And the sweetness of their smell when they fall asleep on my chest. And the softness of their skin when I kiss them goodnight. And how it feels when my tiny baby grabs my finger and squeezes hard, and how warm my hand feels when Abby slips hers in mine. 

I don't want to close my eyes for fear that I will blink too fast. I just want to cherish and remember all of it, so that sixty years from now, when my children are grown and the house is quiet, I can close my eyes and still hear the laughter and taste the sweetness. And if I'm lucky, I hope someday I can pass on this love in stories to my own great-grandchildren.