This could very well be both the happiest time of my life and the hardest. Mothering both boys is a balancing act that I never seem to master with each day. There are always frayed edges or undone parts, sometimes it feels a little like I’m managing to walk across an invisible tightrope with the baby in my arms, that’s how fragile my grip feels. But as I stared into the lake today, beyond the bubbling enthusiasm of the pool, Chas crawled before my eyes like a gorilla in pursuit of a transparent blue beach ball with white polka dots. When he had finished chasing the ball across the concrete, he hoisted himself onto his feet and began to clap and smile. Evidence that my job is, despite the aching heart, pretty precious. I mean, he could learn to do these things on his own, I know this, but the job of being there to see it all–how fortunate I am to always be witness to these little miracles.
This could very well be both the happiest time of my life and the hardest. Mothering both boys is a balancing act that I never seem to master with each day. There are always frayed edges or undone parts, sometimes it feels a little like I’m managing to walk across an invisible tightrope with the baby in my arms, that’s how fragile my grip feels. But as I stared into the lake today, beyond the bubbling enthusiasm of the pool, Chas crawled before my eyes like a gorilla in pursuit of a transparent blue beach ball with white polka dots. When he had finished chasing the ball across the concrete, he hoisted himself onto his feet and began to clap and smile. Evidence that my job is, despite the aching heart, pretty precious. I mean, he could learn to do these things on his own, I know this, but the job of being there to see it all–how fortunate I am to always be witness to these little miracles.
Year Three, cont’d.
I’m brainstorming party ideas for Ford’s upcoming Fourth Birthday, drawing purple and black swirls and doodles on one page within my brain, in rhyme with a Harry Potter theme; on yet another page I’m filling in retro squares and dots in a patchwork quilt of ideas for Plan B: Robot Theme. As we have sailed through Year Three, I’ve been amazed with Ford’s cognitive leaps, his eagerness try new things and to help solve problems. For every emotional breakdown he’s had to witness, Ford has tried to solve my dilemma by scouring our drought-ridden backyard for flowers; for every asshole on the road who has cut me off, he has volunteered to go kill them for me; for every store that has run out of strawberries he has decided to boycott. I would have to say that, while Year Three has challenged my patience with the advent of negative quirks, it has also shown time and time again that Ford has not only wanted more and more to sympathize with us in times of distress but that he has also felt more equipped to help us feel better.