too fleeting

When he is a hairy, smelly boy of fifteen or a working man of thirty, will I still remember the way he patted my neck when he pressed his soft cheek into mine?  Will I remember the squint of his eyes while he shimmied his chubby little shoulders in a dance?  The way he would boldly declare, "I love flowers. And butterflies!" Will I still think it is cute when he wants to sleep in his bathing suit because he is so excited that tomorrow's hotel will have a swimming pool?  Will I remember the tiny voice that said, "In Cinderella, I am the prince!" after playing pretend with his sister, or "Funny face!" whenever he thought anything was amusing (whether it had a face or not).  

Will I think of the way he said "Hold you!" and lifted his arms to be taken up the stairs, immediately followed by his grunting and saying, "I too heavy!"?  Will I still find him lying around with a book on the floor of his sister's bedroom or on the marble before the front door?  Will I retain the sound of his humming his own little made-up tunes?  Will I still be able to see the way he looked deep into my eyes when he said, "Mommy, I love you so, so much!" or, "I'm so sorry, Mommy" as we together pick up one of his two-year-old disasters? Will I recall how funny it was when he would shout, "Never...Again!!!" instead of a simple, "No, thank you"?  Will I see him in front of me in the bakfiets, calling out, "I love that blue car! I love that purple car! That black car is so pretty!" as we spin along? Will I still be able to see those squeezable, roly-poly little thighs in a black and white striped onesie?

Will I remember the way he would growl something that sounded vaguely like French and then plow into us, and how we later realized he was quoting The Muppet Movie:  "That's my trigger word too!"?  That he would grin and wrap his strong, squishy arms around our necks to pull our heads together into a forced family cuddle? The satirically romantic smile with closed eyes as he cuddled me, or his train, or a treat, to show love? Will my ears still hear the screams and laughter bouncing off the walls as he and his sister had their nightly wrestle with their daddy? If I remember nothing else, if I forget every book I have ever read or every place I have ever visited, even my own name, please, please, let me remember these babies that were mine for such a short time, and what it felt like to be their mother. Nothing will ever be this sweet again.