There are things I never want to forget about Cormac.
Little things.
The way he climbs into my lap every time he wants to read a book.
The way he has to be touching me in some way when we watch a show together on TV. Either he is standing on the floor between my legs as I sit on the couch using them as armrests, or leaning against my knees, or sitting on my lap with his hands on my arms, which are around him.
The way his kisses come out of no where.
The way his hair smells - of shampoo and sweat and dirt and rain.
The way he can sense if I am upset and frantically tries to make me feel calmer/better. It always works.
The way he "helps" me cook.
The way he prays.
The way he hugs and kisses the Buddha statue in our flower garden and assumes Buddha's folded hands are praying to Jesus, so he says our mealtime prayer.
The way he picks up rocks and puts them in his pockets wherever we go.
The way I find rocks in my purse that he has snuck in there...oh, and the washing machine because I forgot to empty the pockets of his shorts.
The way he dances. No rhythm at all, but a lot of heart and erratic movement goes into those dance moves.
The way he now sings songs with me out of no where. I have always sang a TON in front of him. Amazing to hear his little voice chime in.
The tantrums. Yes, even the tantrums. There was one the other day that was so epic I accidentally burst out laughing. Which made Cormac burst out laughing, too - despite the angry tears streaming down his face. I know it is just a phase...and the kid has some big emotions, both happy/loving as well as angry/frustrated. (I completely understand this trait.)
The way he adores his sister. Has to touch her in some way every time he sees her, saying "Grab!" Repeats "Bed, bed, bed" over and over until I lift him up to peer into her crib. The way he points out all her facial features and names them. The way he points to her and says, "Small!" and then points to himself and says, "Big!" The proud look that comes over his face when I let him "hold" her.
I can't believe that this will all change. He'll become a teenager and tell me hates me. He'll be embarrassed by my constant kisses. All he'll want to do is sleep, instead of fighting naps to spend more time with me.
And of course, then some other woman will come along and be the one he turns to for love and comfort.
But for now it is me.
For now I must relish all of it.
And not forget the stuff that sometimes drives me crazy.
That will be the stuff I will miss the most.
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