I don't remember much from Piper's first year.
We moved three times. Pete took and failed and retook and passed the Bar. I was buried in wedding post-processing and postpartum depression. My Lyme disease resurfaced with a vengeance. We had so many financial troubles we were trying to work out. We weren't sleeping.
And there were other things on top of it all.
But one day, when Piper was almost five months old, it snowed. And I remember being a mommy.
I bundled her up, and I bundled me up, and I carried her outside where the flakes were coming down large and wet. The parking lot in our townhome division was white. We made the first black footprints in the snow. The neighborhood kids weren't home from school yet.
I looked up, let the flakes come down, hit me in the face. Piper looked up too, then ducked her head back down, flinching at the cold wet. She wasn't sure what to think. She never is, the first time she tries something new. She wants to make sure she is safe. Once she knows she is, she'll try anything.
I giggled. Stuck my tongue into the falling white. Told her to try it. She did. She caught a snowflake on her tiny tongue.
And then we spun in the snow, leaving unsteady black slide marks in the slippery white. Just for a minute, the two of us. Making a memory.
(Image © SXC)