You can hardly see my son there, but there he is, in the trees we planted before he was born. And I stood in amazement at how high the trees have grown and how big he’s gotten since the last time we stood there.
Today, my son and I visited the backyard of the house we brought him home from the hospital to. It wasn’t our intention, really, to stop there, but maybe it was someone else’s because we ended up there. Even though we moved from this house four years ago, my son remembers it.
My husband laid the slate patio; he planted the trees. My son played in his water table here and found frogs and made little houses for them in the leaves here. He ran from this patio as a toddler and I remember sighing in frustration. Together, we weeded and roasted marshmallows in an open fire. We all have memories here but for me, most of mine are about my son, just a toddler when we left.
It’s fitting that we were here today because tomorrow, we make settlement on our new house–my son’s third home. Maybe he needed to come back to where he started in order to move on to the next thing? Or maybe I did?
When we left this home, I remember walking from room to room and calling his name. I had heard from a friend that when you have small children, you should do that so that their souls follow you. I did it in this home, all by myself, with tears streaming down my face. My husband thought I was silly and told me that we weren’t leaving our son there; he was going with us, after all. But in a way, my son’s babyhood was left here in this house and on this patio, shaded by these trees. And his soul remembers. Continue Reading
I may have caught his last jump on camera.
For years, he’s loved this jump house and all others he’s encountered. He jumped, happily, every time we got this one out of the garage or found one at a fair or arcade.
But today, he jumped for about two minutes with his sister before he came out and told me, quite matter of factly, that he just doesn’t like it anymore and that he’s too big.
His little sister, now two, called for him to come in and jump with her, but he told her that he’s just too old to jump. No one told him that; he just decided on his own.
It’s a small thing, really, and one of many things that signify that my son, once a boy I could easily carry, is growing older. He’s too heavy for me to lift now; he’s getting his adult teeth; his hair is getting darker; his hands are taking the shape of a boy, no longer a baby. Continue Reading
“Hold still.” These are the words we say so many times a day to our toddler who never stops moving, but today, they hold a different meaning for me.
As we try to change a diaper or get her dressed, bathe her or brush her teeth, “hold still,” we say. In this photo, my husband is trying to get her swimsuit on to head to the beach. “Hold still,” he said and instead, she smiled and stopped long enough for me to snap this photo.
She moves so fast and rarely is still at all; I’m constantly amazed at her energy and her ability to turn any situation into a dance party as she moves her shoulders up and down to a song she hums herself.
When she does rest, it’s often with me right beside her. She finally stills and I always watch her sleep for a bit, marveling at how her tiny body has finally stopped moving, if just for a while. I memorize her face each day and the wrinkles in her hands, knowing well how quickly they will change. Continue Reading