Today

I'm upstairs again, thanks to my mom's hard work insulating and cleaning up the loft, and it's divine, especially with the sun streaming in through the skylights. Maggie is up here, too, flipping through books and grooving on KUNM's incredibly diverse Native music playlist (I actually get radio reception up here!). I have four loads of clean laundry flapping in the breeze, Lazarus is napping, and I finally found a good recipe for carrot breakfast muffins. It's a good day.

My camera is still downstairs (along with most of the rest of my "office" -- haven't moved it back up here yet), so no new pictures for now because I just know I'll wake Lazarus walking through the bedroom to get it. Instead I'll take a look back:

Lazarus, this time last year, in the beautiful sweater my mom made him last winter, and trying on a hat she made for Maggie:


Maggie, this time last year -- I can't believe I was that big, and no wonder I couldn't breathe and desperately wanted to lie down all the time:


Lazarus, two years ago, back in the Denver days:


It's already starting to seem like a long time ago. I keep telling myself to hold on tight to these moments so I never lose them, but I know they'll fade. Just sorting through clothes that don't fit Maggie anymore, some of them clothes that Lazarus wore as well, makes me a bit sad. I know, my babies are thriving and learning and becoming wonderful new little people every day, and I've been incredibly fortunate to be here for all of it. But I understand now why people, even strangers, want so much to hold other people's babies: there's nothing quite so heavenly.