Dear Annabel and Silas,
I was looking in the mirror the other day noticing the new lines gouging trenches along my forehead and between my eyes, and wondering where the time goes.
You'll do this yourselves one day: wish time would stand still. But it won't. It can't. Time has to move along a it's own pace. Sometimes it seems slow and sometimes frighteningly fast.
I know you, Annabel, can't wait to be older. You tell me practically every day how many people you'll be inviting to your birthday party when you're five. You sometimes tell me you'll be seven when the party rolls around.
As for Silas, who knows nothing of age and maturity, the rapid pace of outgrown sleepers and shoes and seats is upon him. He just really started moving, crawling and seeking to grab the world outside the confines of his kangaroo pouch, sharp edges, pointy ends and all.
Every time I see you two together, though, it makes me smile. Whether Annabel is singing to Silas or jumping around to make him smile, or Silas is squawking at the top of his lungs to draw her attention. It's a remarkable thing.
Even in the more delicate moments I have to fight the urge to laugh: When I catch Annabel licking her brother or when Silas reaches out for a fistful of his sister's finely matted hair.
You are good to each other.
I'm just eating this up right now, because I know there will come a day when the space between you may seem insurmountable. Time goes by so quickly.