On hand-me-downs.

In an effort to keep the blogging ball rolling, I'm going to try to post frequently and not put too much pressure on myself to have eight million points and ponderings accompanied by fourteen billion distinctly unique photos in each post. Because, really, guys...I have a wild four-year-old that likes to be read the same books twelve times in a row, chased around the house by 'the angry giant', and pushed on the swing for, quite literally, an hour. Additionally, the infant. I don't even need to really expand on how time-consuming those things can be, do I?

So, here I am, distracting the bigger little with Curious George on Netflix while the smaller little naps in the swing. I have a shred of time; a fleeting moment.

I took some photos of Dexter this morning. While I was rooting through the clothes hanging in the boys' closet, trying to find something in which to dress the babe, I found it. 'It' being the navy blue and orange romper that Oliver lived in for the better part of 9-12 months. 'It' being the one solitary outfit that I associate with Oliver's baby years. I mean, we had a lot of outfits, so it's not like we dressed the kid in nothing but this one outfit, so settle down. But this outfit...was our favorite. We started him in it early, when you could easily fit two Olivers within its vastness, but we kept it hanging in his closet to be worn up until the zipper no longer closed over his plump, roll-y baby body and the elastic for the ankles inched all the way up to his upper calves. I can't tell you what it is about this outfit that we loved, I mean...I couldn't tell you the brand of it or where we got it from, and really...it's orange. No hard feelings, orange, but you're just not my favorite color.

Now, here it is. Zipped up to the throat on our second son as he slumbers. When I laid it down next to him to see that he could probably fit into it, I started to feel very nostalgic and excited. When it zipped up and I saw that the wrist and ankle elastic were just right on him, a large lump forged itself into my throat and my eyes filled up with tears in the cheesy mom-way that they do so often these days.

I could go on and on about what the passing down of this outfit means to me, or what it signifies, but it could take a century. Guys...I have two sons. Two very different, very real sons. I get to relive things about Oliver's babyhood and also experience very different and equally momentous things exclusively surrounding Dexter in his uniqueness.

I'm both excited to watch these two amazing littles grow up to be two different and two very loved young boys and men, and finding myself frantically flailing around in my heart and mind, trying to capture and cling to each of their childhoods. I don't want to let them grow up, I want them to always stay small and in love with their mother and amazed by the simplest of things, but as long as I have to let go and let them grow...I might as well enjoy it to its absolute full potential. That means getting overly sentimental about the passing of one silly little outfit from one brother to the next.

This sibling business is just a whole lot sweeter than I could have ever imagined.