Sometimes he wakes up, in the middle of the night, and crawls in our bed and finds a sweet spot between his daddy and me. I curl myself around him and dad turns to face him too. I assume he feels so secure and happy between us because he falls asleep so quick. His breaths calm my heart. My heart beats may still be familiar to him. I smile. He sleeps.
I live for those moments because I do not want to forget them. This is why I write, this is why I will always write. I remember when I found out I was pregnant, and I started making him a baby blanket. I remember stitching every square of fabric with a smile on my face. I tried to imagine my baby boy wrapped in this labor of love. I stitched patiently. Lovingly. Faithfully. I enjoyed the process like nothing I have ever made before without aiming for perfection. I was simply pouring my heart into it. I imagined I was creating an heirloom he will use for a long time and then maybe, when he has children of his own, it could be theirs too.
When we moved from that one-bedroom apartment and I was able to set up his own room, This blanket adorned in his crib. Later on, I hung this quilt-like blanket on his wall and one day, in the blink of an eye, he grew up and I felt like it was time to take it down. He was no longer my elephant baby. He was into dinosaurs and cars, and was making his own tiny decisions, but they were decisions after all. His personality was shinning through, he was growing more independent and then I wondered when was the last time that I changed his diaper or when was the last time we snuggled to breastfeed.
I remember the first pair of pants I made for you. They were not perfect and this time around, I was mad about it. They were hero-themed, very colorful and while all the imperfections bothered me, you seemed happy to wear them. You were barely a toddler. I’m not even sure if I took a picture. I probably didn’t because they did not turn out as perfect as I imagined they would and this my friends, is where we fail. The pants were not the most important thing, is that memory that you are creating with your child. Take that picture! Don’t overthink it. I vowed never again not to take a picture because what I made wasn’t perfect. The moment is perfect, the memory is perfect and it will be gone, without a trace.
I made you the cutest baby hat, then some fabric buckets to organize all your tiny socks and I still use it to organize your not-so-tiny- socks. Then there was the time where I made you a doorway theater with felt and scraps of fabric. You adored this theater and watching you play with your puppets was healing to my soul.
I remember when I made you a T-shirt. You were now two years old and very much into dinosaurs. When I first showed you the fabric, I saw that sparkle in your eyes. “Wow, boeensor” you said. I don’t know when you will get the word dinosaur right, but I love that you have added new words to my vocabulary. As I stitched the first T-shirt I have ever made, I was filled with so much gratitude. I have always enjoyed sewing, I have often called it my passion but sewing for a person I love more than I love myself, is beyond compare. There is no rush, no pressure, just love in every detail. When I was done with you dinosaur shirt and I showed it to you, your little hands reached for it in excitement. You hopped with joy. My heart hopped with joy.
You are now three years old. You can verbalize your feelings a lot more and when you say “Mami made it for me” a sudden burst of excitement and sadness hits me and it hits me hard. I don’t want this to end but I know one day it will, just like one day you won’t need me to tie your shoes or give you a bath or what’s more heartbreaking, one day you will not crawl into our bed. How long will you still want me to sew for you? How long will you proudly say “My mom made it for me” as your curls bounce when you jump in excitement. Oh how I wish I knew the exact day and time when a special something between us is coming to an end because I would hold on to that moment for as long as I could, and try to remember every detail before it was gone. These things happen without our consent, without a warning, is subtle and almost invisible and before you know it, you are left wondering when was the last time…
I love the superhero-light you shine on me, little dude. I know your daddy loves it too. I also know, this does not last forever, particularly on those teenage years everyone tells me are the worst. I will keep making magic with my sewing machine for you for as long as I possibly can, documenting it, writing about it and sharing it with the world because that is my way of making it last and immortalize these memories. One day If I don’t remember them, I sure hope you will. Even when I’m gone.