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(Catching up on my Words & Pictures.  ‘Little Things’ was Pip’s writing and photo prompt two weeks ago.  The timing was perfect and imperfect.  Perfect, for it was the week of Nicky’s birthday.  Imperfect, because it was the week of our move.  Now, I feel ready to give the subject its due.)

Nine years ago, little things ruled my world.  The central little thing was under two pounds, living down the road in the hospital, breathing with the aid of a CPAP, keeping warm with the aid of an incubator, eating with the aid of a tube through his tiny navel, surrounded by other little things.

nicky1Little things, like micro-preemie diapers, the size of my palm, which were still too large for him.  They covered him midway up his chest unless we folded them down.

Little things, like disposable cameras we left by his isolette, always ready to catch a Kodak moment.

Little things, like the hour each day we got to hold him…once he was ten days old and stable enough for holding.

Little things, like the cc’s we would use to measure his food intake for many more months.

nicky2Little things, like the bear Juli bought me when I told her I was pregnant – the bear that now fits in the palm of his hand.

Little things, like the cradle my grandfather made for me twenty-five years before, taking its place in a nursery we would put together in between visits to the hospital.

So many little things dominating our new little family.

nicky3

And now, the little things are  not so physical.  They are the little things a mother notices about her son, when she can go weeks (and sometimes months) without remembering how little the other things used to be.

Little things, like his compassion, his willingness to eat salad, his love of Star Wars, his friendship with his little brother, his trust that everyone tells the truth, his acceptance of the things that make him different and his ability to work around them.

Happy 9th Birthday, my big little man.

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Several things came together to result in this particular post on this particular evening.

1. Earlier this week, I signed up for NaBloPoMo, wherein I pledge/challenge myself to post at least once a day for a month.

2. Sheri IM’d me a few moments ago, asking where my post for today was.

3. I was completely blank in regards to a subject for said post.

#3 reminded me of those horrible forced journaling times in Language Arts (elementary school) and English (high school) classes many years ago.  Do you remember them?  When the teacher would say, “I want you to journal for five minutes, about anything.  Even if you have nothing to say, just write that.”

While I work well under the pressure of a deadline, this was not the ideal creative situation for me.  Most of the time, pages journaled by yours truly on these days ended up reading something like this:

“I’m supposed to be journaling, but I can’t think of anything to say.  I don’t know what to write about I don’t know what to write about I don’t know what to write about, and it’s only been thirty seconds.  I’m going to write slower.  My pencil is yellow, I can’t think of anything to say…”

Well, you get the idea.

If I’m in the mood to write, great!  I can wax poetic about any number of things.  If I’m not in the mood, give me a prompt, and I can still do pretty well.  But write about anything?  For a specified period of time?  Not so much.  I need direction, please!

(Although, for not being in the mood to blog, and not having a specific prompt, I guess I’ve done all right tonight.)

My boys

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