Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things. ~Pierce Harris, Atlanta Journal
My dearest E.,
I have vivid memories of our first few months together; when you were first finding your footing in this crazy world and learning to cope with all sorts of shibboleths, like your feelings, for instance. Feeling hungry, and you cry for me to cuddle you close to my body, and you turn your little face towards me like an open flower searching for a rainstorm. Feeling cold, when I've inadvertently turned the air-conditioning too high, and you cry for me to cuddle you close to my body, spreading my warmth to permeate your senses. Feeling scared and lonely, and you cry for me to lift you into my waiting arms, and lie you beside me, where we both dream the night away; for time is a sleeping bomb.
You were wont to lay awake until the wee hours of the morning, you little dear rascal. Your boundless energy, despite your tender age, left me weepy, tired, but joyous that I had the privilege of spending your extra awake-hours with you.
Your eyes have become the window to my existence. I was able to recognise your emotions, emphathize with your needs, communicate with you, my little angel: all with your eyes. We have a sense of connectedness, you and I.
Your father and I coined the nickname "Genghis" for you: like the legendary Genghis Khan who sought battles and fought wars to conquer Europe: because you were ferociously conquering when it came to feeds. You would cry for the comfort of my breasts, and I would offer them to you; and you would quieten down in sweet repose, your tiny mouth suckling vigorously, your delicate hand resting on my breast, as if to claim ownership. You were a little Genghis Khan yourself. Over time, your father and I, I'm sorry to say, bastardized the nickname, and it became "Gingis" which sounds much cuter, don't you think? We also called you our Little Houdini because you were a great escape artist when I tried to swaddle you, and you would struggle and try to break free. Oops, here comes a hand! And a foot...!
Oh, we had names for you, your father and I! Who could not have names for their beautiful daughter? You were chubby-cheeked, full of sweetness and grace, happiness and sociability, and you loved people and animals alike. Your fat little legs carried you from one place to another, and you began to crawl backwards as first, timorous as timber, but when you learnt to appreciate your sense of balance and direction, you were a little tornado. Our home was never the same again!
I have so many memories, my sweet, sweet E. They are all stored in the recesses of my mind, too many that makes me smile everytime I think of them. Too many for me to pen them down here.
As you grow a little more each day, each vivid memory of you fixes itself at the back of mind, like little dominos waiting their turn to be let out.
My dearest E.,
I have vivid memories of our first few months together; when you were first finding your footing in this crazy world and learning to cope with all sorts of shibboleths, like your feelings, for instance. Feeling hungry, and you cry for me to cuddle you close to my body, and you turn your little face towards me like an open flower searching for a rainstorm. Feeling cold, when I've inadvertently turned the air-conditioning too high, and you cry for me to cuddle you close to my body, spreading my warmth to permeate your senses. Feeling scared and lonely, and you cry for me to lift you into my waiting arms, and lie you beside me, where we both dream the night away; for time is a sleeping bomb.
You were wont to lay awake until the wee hours of the morning, you little dear rascal. Your boundless energy, despite your tender age, left me weepy, tired, but joyous that I had the privilege of spending your extra awake-hours with you.
Your eyes have become the window to my existence. I was able to recognise your emotions, emphathize with your needs, communicate with you, my little angel: all with your eyes. We have a sense of connectedness, you and I.
Your father and I coined the nickname "Genghis" for you: like the legendary Genghis Khan who sought battles and fought wars to conquer Europe: because you were ferociously conquering when it came to feeds. You would cry for the comfort of my breasts, and I would offer them to you; and you would quieten down in sweet repose, your tiny mouth suckling vigorously, your delicate hand resting on my breast, as if to claim ownership. You were a little Genghis Khan yourself. Over time, your father and I, I'm sorry to say, bastardized the nickname, and it became "Gingis" which sounds much cuter, don't you think? We also called you our Little Houdini because you were a great escape artist when I tried to swaddle you, and you would struggle and try to break free. Oops, here comes a hand! And a foot...!
Oh, we had names for you, your father and I! Who could not have names for their beautiful daughter? You were chubby-cheeked, full of sweetness and grace, happiness and sociability, and you loved people and animals alike. Your fat little legs carried you from one place to another, and you began to crawl backwards as first, timorous as timber, but when you learnt to appreciate your sense of balance and direction, you were a little tornado. Our home was never the same again!
I have so many memories, my sweet, sweet E. They are all stored in the recesses of my mind, too many that makes me smile everytime I think of them. Too many for me to pen them down here.
As you grow a little more each day, each vivid memory of you fixes itself at the back of mind, like little dominos waiting their turn to be let out.
No comments:
Post a Comment