Gather ye rosebuds

... To the Young Mothers, to Make Much of Time ...

Sorry things have been so sparse around here these days. I've found that the more my sweet little Pumpkin is awake, the less free-time I have. Not that I mind. I am contentiously trying to remember to enjoy him to the fullest. Having a baby is very time-consuming, but it is also very precious. This time is fleeting. I had forgotten how sweet and infant's breath is, and how spastic their movements are.

Pumpkin is getting to be a lot more fun. He's adorable, of course; but now he is starting to coo and semi-squeal. He responds to us with big open-mouthed smiles and a sweet "ah-ooo". He interacts with us to an extent, and follows our movements with his eyes and the turn of his head. My guess is that he'll be laughing within the next couple of weeks. I could cry looking at him, with how absolutely dear to me he is.

I've been feeling this way towards Starbeans of late as well. It is like I am taking a step back from reality and surveying my sweet babies from a distance, looking at their faces and appreciating them more fully. It is hard to explain, but feels very good. It allows me to notice things about them that might otherwise have slipped my attention, or at least, might have slipped my appreciation, like Starbeans' little lisp, or his very round cheeks, or how he says, "heeheehee!" while he's playing. Or Pumpkin's attempts at keeping his hands in his mouth long enough for a good suck, his pathetic little, "mwahh!" when he needs to sleep, or his unfathomably beautiful complexion. It is so important to me to stay centered. I don't want this time to be wasted!

I memorized this poem when I was in high school and always liked it, but it makes a lot more sense to me now that I'm older. Seize the day! Seize each day.

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry