I stopped in to see my pizza man the other day and introduce him to Edie (note to self: make a greater effort to see actual friends), and he told me he remembers his oldest when she was Edie-sized, and now she's 14. He told me it goes by fast and that I should take photos and video. Everyone tells me it goes by fast.
So I take photos of her sleeping. Of her awake. I have a 30 second video of her crying. Of James making her dance. But, really, that's not anything. What I want is for someone to tell me how to remember her face in the streetlight of 3am when it feels like just the two of us in the whole world. Of her still weight as she sleeps on my chest. How it feels to crook my arm around her whole body. That's what I want to remember.
This constant reminder that what I have is fleeting makes me nervous. It makes me sad--now. There can't be any greater sin than missing something you have, now, in your arms, or in her seat, waiting to be picked up. But what do I do? Will I regret any moment I take to check my email, or blog, or shower, or take a walk by myself?
I don't miss college because I feel sure that I got what I wanted out of it. I made it my job to have fun; to really experience my experience. When I got pregnant, I knew that however my life changed, I had not misspent my childless years. I had lived, and gallivanted, and done what I wanted to do. I want to look back on Edie's babyhood the same way.
I just . . . I don't know how.