Today I unpacked Noal's baby clothes to try and get organized for his little brother coming...I tenderly lifted each sleeper & remembered rocking my first baby to sleep. I smelled certain blankets trying to get that new baby scent. I picked up useless newborn shoes & had a hard time believing his now big foot was ever that small. I thought of Noal's first laugh, what a hungry-chubby-little thing he was & how he in essence, made me the momma I am.  

I picked up the little hat that he wore right after he was born to hide the bruised-suctioned-cup mark on his forehead and briefly cringed at the 21 hours of labor he put me through. 

I picked up the sleeper he was in the first time I put him in a swing and remembered the sour little face he made, when I was highly anticipating smiles. 

I picked up the pj's he wore when he kept kissing his little sister, easing my broken heart a wee bit when grieving her Down syndrome diagnosis.

I picked up a shirt that he wore to his "first wedding" when he was 2 mths old and remembered slow dancing with him, being oh, so happy that I was finally a mom. 


As I pulled out every piece, my heart was happy yet crushed at the same time. How is it that we are here, when just yesterday we were there?

How is it that I'm tearing up at the thought of what to pack him for lunch when it feels like I just packed him up from the hospital? How is it we are working on how to print his name when it feels like I just proudly announced it to the world? How is it I'm about to put him on a bus and hope/pray/wish his day is perfect, when it feels like I just taught him the words to wheels on the bus? How is it that I want him to take on the world but at the same time I wish I could remain his entire one? 

Sweet Jesus on high, how in the bloody hell is a momma supposed to let go?