Note to self: read the fine print...

Today at snack time I feed the girls at the table and the monotony of the task hits me. It feels like I have prepared their meals, fed them, and cleaned up after them all by myself a million times. Then I realize that I have. They were still in high chairs with trays when he died. They were still eating pureed foods and drinking out of a bottle. So much has changed that he does not know about. In the few short months, our lives have dramatically changed in a myriad of small but significant ways. I ponder all the things he never got to see and doesn't know about.

He does not know that:
They can eat with a fork and drink out of sippy cup, all the while eating table food exclusively- no more pureeing veggies
They can hop like a bunny, moo like a cow, and hoot like an owl
They have natural rhythm and love to dance just like me
They love pizza as much as I do
They are able to identify with startling accuracy almost all of the animals, shapes, and many objects in their books, which they look through incessantly
They love each other and often hug and cuddle- their bond is unique and special
They know him; they recognize him in most pictures they see
They love to brush their teeth
They know how old they are and proudly raise their index finger when asked
They love to ride in the car and get excited repeating “Go” over and over when we say we are going somewhere
They give high fives and make silly faces on command
They crawl on everything, and open everything....everything
They follow simple commands and directions
They try to put their own shoes and socks on, and at bath time try to take their pants off
They build towers out of blocks and are able to do simple big board puzzles
They love to flip the light switches on and off
They love to eat ice like him, and when they see an adult drinking out of a cup they say "ice" over and over until they are given a piece
They love to rough house and get tickles, something I always imagined him doing with them
They squeal with delight and clap whenever they are proud of something they have accomplished

All of these beautiful, unique things that make them who they are and he has never experienced them. He's never had the joy of seeing them giggle with delight when being chased. Never seen them hug and kiss each other. Never watched with amazement as I have when they aren't sure how to do something and they just keep trying until they get it right. He's never walked into their room at night while they are wide awake, only to have them pretend to be asleep as though they can fool us. He's never had them cling to his leg and demand "up" because they so desperately want to be held.

It is with penetrating sadness that I realize this is all only the tip of the iceberg. He never got to be a part of shaping who they are, and who they will become. The sole task of instilling values, morals, life lessons, and personality traits is left to me.

When I said "til death do us part" this isn't what I had in mind.

This isn't what I signed up for.

I sit here heaving and sobbing, asking God if there is any way I can re-negotiate the contract.

Surely, there is an escape clause in the fine print somewhere.

Then I realize, this IS the fine print...I just didn't read it.