Carvin' Time

When I think about it, babies not being able to have memories from their first few years has to be by design.

There are several memories during Henry's first weeks of life I'm glad he will never remember.  

Oh, that newborn stage is something else, something amazing, something that leaves you in awe of the miracle of life and parenthood...

but it's also a huge mix of hormones and exhaustion and trial and error, and it's hard.  

 

I think it's pretty great that Henry's first memories will be from the age of when he still thinks his parents are funny and smart and lovely.  

(He will, right?)

I get that he won't remember the beginning of our family traditions that started with him, our firstborn.  And it's kind of nice that it gives us a few years to really get the hang of exactly how these traditions are meant to happen.  It's okay that they start small and can evolve into something bigger.  Or not.  They're our traditions, and they're ours to make.

This year, our pumpkin carving is not picturesque, outside with leaves falling around us on a crisp fall day.  It was inside, as it continues to mist in the dark night outside, squeezed in after dinner, but just before bath time.  I did manage to put on the Halloween Party Pandora station with only a slight eye roll from Andrew to set the mood.  Henry had no idea what was going on except that he didn't like the pumpkin guts his dada threw on him, shaking the trash bag was a lot of fun, as was saying "pump-puuhhhh" as soon as his pumpkin was set out to be carved.

 

This is why you do it.  When you're tired.  When your kitchen is dirty, you have laundry to catch up on, and loads of work to do.  

When it's past his bedtime.  When your pumpkin is actually a gourd.

 

It's just the beginning, and it's not perfect nor will it ever be.  But it's a pretty great start.