Sunday, March 4, 2012

Year of Writing 63. On moments past.

3/4/12

I was doing a little picture clean up on the old hard drive today, and I found this gem, taken almost a year ago.  This picture is a pretty good summary of my baby girl.

Messy hair, cockeyed lady gaga glasses, standing in the sun, ruffles everywhere even on a bathing suit, can't tell whether she's gonna smile or stamp her feet, chubby tummy peeking out.  

I'm grateful that the picture exists, but I wish I could bottle everything about this moment - the smell of sunscreen on her shoulders and eucalyptus in the air around.  The dry heat rendering every surface unwalkable in bare feet.  The static electricity laden anticipation of the pool beyond the wrought iron fence.  All the details come rushing at me with arms outstretched, but I know they will fade with time. 
Just another reminder never to waste a moment now, to play the games, sneak the razzberries on her tummy, laugh and sing with her, calm her fears, kiss her skinned knees.  I may not be able to hold on to every detail of every memory, but I sure can live them all now. 

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