Our Little Beastie Blog: June 2018

Wake up. Get the kids ready. Feel guilty about thinking "the kids," but really meaning "the living kids."

Things are pretty smooth right now. We're in a groove that from the outside looks pretty wonderful. From the inside it feels pretty wonderful too, but then the caveats. No matter how beautiful and perfect a moment seems, there is always that asterisk. Always. We don't think it will ever go away.

Taking pictures for Immy's 8-month - June 29, 2018

It's odd to know that this asterisk will always hang around.

*It wasn't supposed to be this way.
*Someone is missing. Oberon is missing.
*One of our children died.

Every. Day.

We mean it when we say Everett and Imogen are incredibly fun to parent. Their smiles are huge, their giggles infectious, their hugs enthusiastic. Everett is hilarious with his negotiating tactics and facial expressions. We don't know why he sings "Wheels On The Bus" at half speed, or calls his toy car "Pickles Cables" instead of "Jimmy Cables." It doesn't matter, we simply enjoy his silliness and joy.

We don't know why he sings it so slowly - June 29, 2018

Time seems to move faster than when Evie was a baby, and Imogen's milestones are racking up. She's into finger foods! And scooting! And even playing around with new sounds. She loves books, face time, and banging toys together. When we say loves, we mean it. Her whole face lights up in the most infectious way.

Rainbow girl making faces - June 13, 2018

As they grow and change, it's sometimes hard to remember how they were before. Our memories get fuzzy and the way they are now oozes back over the memories. Did Immy really not sit alone 10 weeks ago? Was Everett's first time using the potty less than a month ago? It feels like it's been this way for ages.

Thinking about Oberon, it's even more stark. How big was he in our arms? How much did he wiggle? How loud were his noises? Was his skin soft, or dry?

It hurts that the fuzzy memories aren't replaced with anything. There's no new, older version of Oberon that writes over his younger self. We miss him. All the time. That asterisk is always there, even during the happy moments.