4 min read

Slow snowflakes

Cooper woke up a little earlier than his usual, as of late. He gave me big, sloppy kisses when I got him from his crib today. I ate my breakfast while he sat next to me in his high chair, fascinated. He smiled and laughed as he dropped toys on the ground, sitting up so tall, like a little boy (not so much a baby anymore, but still my baby forever).

It gets dark so early these days, but that means the Christmas lights in our downtown shine a little brighter.

A few days ago, I went with my sister- and mother-in-law to visit a family friend's horse. Mr. Carseat cheeks fell asleep along the way.

Nicholas and I tried out the high chair (and some avocado!) for the first time with Cooper. He wasn't so sure about the avocado, but loved the high chair and chewing on a spoon.

I got my first haircut since we moved back to the Midwest and I had a baby (and I can wear my Weekender Sweater regularly now).

We love singing our way through a fabric Christmas Carol book made by our Aunt Brenda. Ever reaching for everything and exploring, he loves scrunching and feeling the soft pages.

Lazy, slow snowflakes are falling outside right now. I didn't see snow on the forecast, and "surprise" snows are always the best. It's a dear friend's birthday today, so we visited her and her babes this morning. I'm wearing a sweater my in-laws gave to me for my birthday, listening to the song "Christmas Quiet" by Tom Rosenthal. And I love the lyrics (as a sock knitter, some resonate with me, especially) :

A pair of socks is all you gave to me, but i wore those socks forever, wore those socks forever. I peered through the bannisters, i remember hearing talking, i remember hearing talking. How did they all fit inside? The secret's in the night sky, the secret's in the night sky. Candle in the corner of the room, it was filled with Christmas Quiet, filled with Christmas Quiet. Walking on a cold misty morning, i was wearing all the jumpers, wearing all the jumpers. A pair of socks is all you gave to me, but i wore those socks forever, wore those socks forever.

While cooper naps, I'm writing a little, knitting a few stitches on the first non-surprise project I've started in awhile. They are a comfort knit, a pair of self-patterning socks. They should be squishy and comfortable and reminiscent of this time of year every time I wear them.

And as he sleeps, I'm re-reading bits from "The Spirit of Jesus," from The Valley of Vision. Including this:

May [Jesus'] comforts cheer me in my sorrows, his strength sustain me in my trials, his blessings revive me in my weariness, his presence render me a fruitful tree of holiness, his might establish me in peace and joy, his incitements make me ceaseless in prayer, his animation kindle in me undying devotion.

It's just a Wednesday, but it feels especially poignant to me. The way Cooper grabs every piece of knitwear that I wear, exploring the textures, smiling at his mama, putting an i-cord tie in his mouth. The way he loves Nicholas, and belly laughs for him every night when his daddy gets home. The feeling of poignancy could be from the snow. It could be my heart stirring. It could be the fist Christmas with this baby boy we prayed for. It could be another Christmas celebrating the birth of a Savior we all need(ed). It could be everything.


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