Fourth Child Syndrome

I haven't been taking many pictures of Silas these days. I hate that, because it gives him all the evidence he'll need when he's older to accuse me of playing favorites or overlooking him.

Actually, that can't be farther from the truth. There aren't many pictures yet, because there are so many other things to pick up off the floor, put in the dishwasher, and take out of the dryer that my hands haven't found the free time to grab the camera.

BUT.

I've spent so much time looking at my little boy that I feel as though I've memorized every little pimple, every eyebrow furrow, every combination of moves his mouth makes when those gurgly baby sounds come out.

I've held him and snuggled with him so many times that I know he fits perfectly in the crook of my arm - legs drawn up and arms tucked in, like he was a baby cannonball jump off the diving board.

I've mastered the art of simultaneous emailing and snuggling - to the point that I know that he startles when I push the "Enter" key several times.

(like I just did.)

I've smelled him and touched him and held him and talked and sang and whispered to him so much that there's just no way he can ever claim he was overlooked.

Even if there no pictures, there are images in my heart forever.

I love this little guy.