|at our last family dinner on Stephenson|
Tomorrow (I guess it's later today- I can't sleep), we're moving out of the house that has held us for 10 years. When we moved in, Anna Grace was on my hip and I wasn't but half a second pregnant with Zeke. For me, trying to grab memories is like grabbing for handfuls of a cloud- it's all hazy and elusive. But of all things, my kid's medicine cabinet had me all nostalgic today (yesterday).
How a bottle of sticky expired cough syrup did it I don't know, but it brought me back to holding my babies- babies!- all those long-short years. The diaper cream with the funny name (Boudreaux's butt paste is what we use in these parts)- how could I not think of roly poly babies with thigh rolls and heart-melting smiles? Wobbly little legs taking their first steps down the hall and footie pajama snuggles. The heavy duty prescription strength soap was for impetigo a few summers ago- they all three had it, but for Anna Grace I had to rush across the Texas border to get my little girl from camp with an ear infection and staph on her skin. We went to the little country doctor and laughed in the aisles of the grocery store that day, she and I. The bottles of liquid Tylenol and Ibuprofen was feverish babies and so many sleepless nights here but sleepless in the best way: sleepless with a baby held close to my beating heart. The squished bottles of toothpaste and old toothbrushes- it's like us being squished in this house together for all these years, close and messy and not quite perfect. Somehow the medicine cabinet held a whole lot more than just rubbing alcohol and band-aids.
As I was boxing it up I thought: what a mess. What a beautiful, beautiful mess.