I mentioned to my mum lately how she never shouted when we were children. “Oh, I did.” She replied. “You just don’t remember!”
I wonder will Oscar remember?
Will he remember when I got frustrated at the 10th spill in one day?
Will he remember when I loudly proclaimed that I was “SO DONE” doing laundry and ironing?
Will he remember the times where I was so overwhelmed with the weight of responsibility that all I could do was put on the TV for him and call it a day?
Will he remember all the times I helplessly poured out my soul in prayer to help me get through another monotonous day of motherhood?
Will he remember the loneliness of a mother and the tiredness of a father as we did all we could to provide for his future?
Maybe, but I hope not.
I hope he will remember the cuddles and the kisses.
I hope he will remember the endless games of peekaboo and the cheeky licks of mummy’s ice cream.
I hope he will remember the times I let the dust and the laundry sit and instead read stories and tickled toes.
I hope he will remember the feeling of pure JOY he felt when Daddy got home at night.
I hope he will remember the prayers of thanks we said every night before bed.
I hope that when he holds a tiny body against his own that he would remember how it felt to be held.
I hope that one day, when he holds a little hand of his own, that he will remember all of these things.
Oh, I hope he remembers. I know I will never forget.