At least not today, anyway.
It all started innocently enough last November.
Send in a baby picture for your senior, they said.
Eh, no problem, I got a bazillion of those.
Except--
When I went to go find the book,
I didn’t.
Find it, that is.
I looked in every nook and cranny.
Nowhere.
I knew EXACTLY what I was looking for. But it just was not to be found.
I got this sick feeling in my stomach.
REALLY SICK.
What if it got tossed inadvertently? My beautiful son’s babyhood, POOF, erased.
He’ll think I don’t love him enough.
Talk about middle child syndrome. (I’m sure he’s long suspected something like this would happen!)
Fast forward 7 months. Every once in a while a new place to look will occur to me. But nothing. The dull ache continues.
About a week ago, Bryce was helping his dad clean up the garage after the various camping activities of the summer. I’m not home, but Bryce happens to mention later how his dad was cursing me (with love, I’m sure) when he came across this mystery box with all sorts of *garbage* in it. He (Jeff) was tempted to throw it away. Sure! he’s willing to throw MY boxes!! Let’s talk about that Spuds McKenzie sweatshirt that was packed in the garage for how many years? Seriously? But, I digress.
That’s right, you guessed it. Tyler’s babyhood has been rescued from obscurity (or, in this case, the garbage).
I cheered. I sang. I did a little dance.
I made Tyler sit down and admire his cute baby self.
(He had to go and ruin the moment by mocking our wardrobe choices. Red is a good color for me, I don’t care what he says about too many stripes….)
Of course, now I may actually have to FINISH the book.
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