I'm having one of those months that I am pretty sure if I don't document every minute, I'll forget things like the way my children look or their idiosyncracies...maybe even my address and middle name. Don't even broach the subject of tag number. I've been reverting back to counting on my fingers and littering sticky notes around my office that say things like "remember to eat." "remember to take your purse home."
In part, this stems from some recent brain decay I've had. I have no excuse...I didn't just have a baby. I am not having a baby. My kids sleep through the night. (Mostly)
Oh, what's that you say? Stress! That'll do it.
But I used to be able to access words and translate thoughts into conversation rather seamlessly. Now I find myself verbally stumbling. Slipping around my vocabulary warehouse, mixing verbs, misappropriating nouns, and general adopting this sort of labored, halting quality to my communication. Broca's aphasia? And yet, I've got this great script in my mind running all.of.the.time.
But stress really does do amazing things to one's body. I am the poster child for what all it can do to you.
Like make you lose train of thought.
Wait, what was I even blogging about?
Oh yeah. Forgetting the nuances of each stage of my children's lives.
One thing I don't ever want to forget is the quality of my boys' voices. And the funny things they say. I guess I could be considered a bad Mommy for exploiting my son's difficulty pronouncing words, but it really is cute.
(And it's not like 1. we don't try to get him to speak correctly, or 2. that we are blind to the fact that there is a 99.9% repeating probability that we'll go into speech therapy.)
For Miles, it's the actual words he says that makes me laugh. With Felix, it's inflection and quality.
Tonight in the car, I got a sneak peak for y'all of Miles's funnies. (Torticollis style--ie, you need to turn your head to view). The quality isn't the greatest, but it's these moments I want to remember. In the beginning, we asked him to speak in staccato (a new trick he learned at school.) And, yes, him saying "bridge" and "clock" are only words we prefer him to say in the company of close friends at this time. And I have NO idea who told him the police comes and takes you to jail if you don't wear your seatbelt. Certainly not this perfect mother. (Although, I think his concepts of jail and heaven are currently just about the same--some place far far away. Where policeman eat doughnuts and dogs play with their owners. No, I'm serious. That's what he thinks.)