Is this normal?

I've been wondering lately if I'm sad.  You see, I've been having these moments with the kiddies.  These moments where they'll do something -- and it's not much, really -- but I will feel this pang.  It's a gush of love, followed by this gut-tightening sickness, almost like nausea.  It's an understanding that this moment will pass too soon.  It's nostalgia before the moment is over.  And then I get all teary and annoyed that I'm an overly sentimental sap.  A sap who can be taken down by a smile, a giggle, a misspoken word.

But it happens so often now, with all of them, but especially with Zachary whose face and words have been turning me to mush.  Like when we were making quiche and his job was to tear up pieces of cheese to put into a bowl.  The cheese didn't make it to the bowl.



And then there's the way he greets me when he sees me at daycare - he runs and jumps off of the stairs and into my arms as though there is no way I could possibly drop him when he runs at me like that.  And the way he always asks me (and his dad, and Roar), "How was your day today?" and then waits patiently for a response.  And the way he says "fwee" instead of "three" when we're reading counting books, and how he asked me tonight, "How is that even possible?" when we read a book with a fly sitting in a trash can. 

 

And the way his face lit up the other day, eyes open wide, literally shaking with excitement when I told him that his friend David was going to be at daycare that day; this despite the fact that he and David had just played together at daycare the day before.  Can you imagine that?  Being that kind of excited to see a friend again?  I gush.

And then there's my girl.  That thumb still kills me.  I know I'm going to regret at some point not pulling it out, but her thumb in her mouth, her head resting against my chest, brings her so much comfort that I can feel it.  And that bit about her being content to sit and play now?  Ha!  That lasted a week.  When I sit her down, she lowers herself to the ground and effectively Army crawls everywhere.  If I am out of her eyesight, she will come and find me.

And Conor -- sweet, sweet Conor.  Just writing his name has warmed my chest.  That can't be normal, right?  Little boy has caught his third cold in a row, and despite the snot everywhere, despite the fact that he can't breathe, somehow he can still laugh.  Nothing is going to get this darling boy down.  How I made such a sweet, warm little person is beyond me.


And Roar too.  You'd think that a teenager would be the cure for gush, but he's not.  He had the day off of school the other day, so I took the babies to daycare and had him watch Zachary while I worked downstairs.  I came upstairs once and they were coloring with crayons the model rocket that they had built. 

 

Then later I came upstairs to make lunch, but Roar was already on it.  It turned out that all his brother wanted to eat was Moo Goo Gai Pan (courtesy of a Veggie Tales video), so Roar was attempting to make it from scratch for him.  And then Zachary and Roar hugged so tight when launching that rocket in the backyard.  Gush, gush, puke.

I can't stand that these moments will end.  But of course they will.  And they'll make way for more beautiful moments.  I know this.  But it doesn't stop me from being sad, or sappy, or sick.  Is this normal?  It can't be.

After sleeping on this post overnight, I think I may understand where part of the panic is coming from -- my memory is not what it used to be, and the thought that these moments may fade into oblivion, as if they never happened, is frightening.  I've been working hard and exercising in the mornings so I haven't had time to blog, but perhaps that's the problem: I haven't been documenting.  So I'm going to try to post more, even if it's just a line, or just a picture, so that I can capture the overwhelming sweetness that surrounds me.