Memories

Memory is selective. Sometimes it is involuntarily selective - we don't remember anything else; but sometimes it helps to be deliberately selective in our memories, and choose to not remember/think about/dwell on certain events. This week has had plenty of moments that I will forget, and several that I will choose to not remember. However, there were plenty of moments that I don't want to forget.

I never want to forget the strength and determination I received from Thomas as I looked into his eyes and felt his hand in mine, as he helped me breathe through strong contractions.

I don't want to forget the support and encouragement from my labor and delivery nurse. She was amazing.

I don't want to forget that I had the doctor I knew best deliver my baby. And she was so helpful, informative, encouraging, professional, supportive, and took really good care of me.

I never want to forget the feeling of the little child on my stomach as he took his took his first breaths - his little squinty eyes and his pointy upper lip and the relief to actually see him and hear his cries.

I know I won't forget the certainty of knowing his name was just right. Thomas said something like, "What do you think of Malcolm Frederick?" which was the name I thought was the right one.

I don't want to forget the Mother and Child nurse that reminded me of my mom and let me relax that first night.

I don't want to loose the sense of thankfulness for everyone who cared for me and the baby while we were at the hospital.

I don't want to forget Eamon's little voice as he said "Malcolm" and "MacMac"

I don't want to forget Mom's and Dad's beaming faces as they saw him for the first time. And how much fun Eamon had with them. And their hugs and kisses as they congratulated us.

I don't want to forget the relief of being at home as a little family.

I don't want to forget the way Eamon wants to hug Malcolm and play with him, and doesn't quite understand why Malcolm doesn't do anything.

I don't want to forget Thomas' help making meals, playing with Eamon, holding and rocking Malcolm, washing dishes, not getting any alone time, and getting me a huge bouquet of flowers.

I don't want to forget little baby cuddles and snuffles and sweetness or little boy cuddles and kisses and sweetness.

I don't want to forget Mom's support and encouragement in dealing with Eamon's getting used to not being the center of life. Or the way she and Dad took him out for an hour or so to watch big machines with Edmund. And brought dinner.

I don't want to forget that although I began to doubt God's love and provision, He gave me far more than I could have hoped for.

The things that were uncomfortable, disagreeable, stressful, inconvenient, I don't mind not remembering, but I will choose to remember these things and be thankful - so thankful - for the birth of our second son.