Gratitude: A List of Things I Love

1. Coffee. I still can’t have it all the time or Cedar’s tummy gets upset, but I have it enough to know how much it can help me through a day.

2. Cheese. Ditto on the above, can’t have it all the time, but when I do, let me tell you, I enjoy it! The best was the cheese plate at the overpriced wine bar with its miniature slices. But did I care? No! The size of those slices was perfect for me and mirrored my savoring-every-small-bite approach. Speaking of which….

3. The wine at said wine bar was damn good, too. Thank God I haven’t had to cut out wine from my diet. Enough said.

4. Okay, on to less oral delights… I love…. the way my husband lets me sleep in on Saturday mornings. The feeling of sinking back into a deep, uninterrupted sleep for three hours, and the ability to sprawl my limbs across the wide expanse of the flannel sheet-covered mattress is downright heavenly. With the aid of the white noise machine and earplugs, all outside noises of small children are blocked out, and although I emerge from this dream-laced stupor feeling groggy and out of sorts, this ability to catch up on my sleep on the weekend has felt physically necessary, what keeps me from getting sick, what keeps me sane in the midst of going on 20-some months of continually interrupted and inadequate sleep.

5. What else? I love… my son’s silliness. The way he cracks up in hysterics when we blow on his tummy, or the way he copies us and blows on mine. The way he says his new word “no?” like a question. Running my hands through the curls on the back of his head. The way he likes to kick and stomp his feet, and turn in circles when he “dances”. The way he chases our cat through the house, screaming “Mao, mao, mao…”, cat in Chinese. Witnessing him absorb language, new words left and right. His recent obsession with candles—requesting (more like demanding) that I light a "ka da" whenever we are sitting at the table. There are worse things for a toddler to demand. Like…. “Elmo! Elmo! Elmo!” Okay… too much Elmo may get annoying, but those folks at Sesame Street sure are clever—ever seen Feist’s “1, 2, 3, 4…” song or Adam Sandler’s song about Elmo? How about India Arie’s alphabet song or that British guy singing Elmo a “lullaby” with a pounding punk guitar? Uh, huh. I’ve watched these video clips on You Tube many, many times, and more often than not, I’ve got one stuck in my head. One more, you say? Okay, baby. And another? Why not. Half an hour’s worth? Well, alright, just this once...or twice. Then mama can wake up and drink her coffee.

6. Obviously I could fill this entire list with things about my son. After all, he’s the center of my universe right now. The center of my universe forever? Perhaps. So let me just pick one more thing I love about him, then move on. I love…the way he runs around the house with a plastic stir stick meant for my husband’s beer brewing. I also don’t like the fact that this has become his new favorite toy, pushing it in front of him on the wood floor like a vacuum, but I do love how this current excitement of his speaks to how children can find enjoyment in the oddest of things. He likes this plastic stick too much for me to err with my cautious side and take it away from him (lest he trip and it jabs him, or it trips him). Whatever. It’s not sharp and pokey. There are worse things for him to attach to. So of all things to love, I pick the stick. Really, I just love watching him discover the world, I love his incessant curiosity. I love (and sigh about) how he wants to hold and copy every last thing that we hold or do. Nothing  escapes his notice. He makes me see the world of mundane objects anew.

7. What else? I love… watching him connect with his grandparents. Watching him play hide-and-seek with my mom. Watching my mom run down the hall or army crawl behind the dining room table—my serious, often grumpy, yet wonderful mom, morphing into the silly, delightful child that she also is. I love the fact that Cedar has so many people who love him, so many people with whom he can feel safe with, so many people he knows. I love seeing him lift his arms up to a new friend to be held, I love seeing the delight in their faces as they feel chosen by him, having passed the energetic test: you are safe, you are kind.

8. I love my family, love my friends, love my community, even if I often miss them because they are far away or busy. Oh, so busy. Everyone’s so busy. But still, even though I haven't yet, I love the knowledge that I can take the train down to Portland with Cedar some day to visit two of my oldest soul sisters (our own little adventure), and I love the morning weekend drives that I've made with my husband to Olympia en route to visit Grandma and family. I love that my sister now lives only a few miles away, and I love the fact that we have a small growing nucleus of families with babies next door, families that we will no doubt BBQ and have playdates and drinks with all the more. I love how I have been trading childcare with my neighbor—once a week I watch her daughter for a few hours, in exchange for the same. This is how it is done! That whole village thing. It really matters. We are all so tired, we don’t have the energy to drive across town once we’re cozy in our homes. But we do have the energy to walk next door! And often the morning goes faster caring for two than for one, when suddenly all the old toys become interesting again.

9. Okay, I lied. Back to Cedar. I love watching him interact with other babies and kids. Whether it’s his 16-month-old buddy Cecilia next door (who adores “C” as she calls him), or the 19 other kids at toddler co-op preschool who we spot more and more around town at library storytime or at the park. I love how he is forming his own little community, and I love trying to imagine what it feels like for him to realize that the world is  populated with little people just like him! I love showing up at school every Friday morning and seeing the new (to us) imaginative toys and activities set up in the room, and watching him roam around at will, every so often calling out, “Mama, mama!” and running into my arms for a hug, before darting off again to explore some new corner. I love knowing that he feels safe to explore the outer limits of his environment, yet also knows to come back and check in and get some loving. I love loving this little boy. He is so full of love. I inhale his whole being into my heart when we embrace, drawing as close as I can to his essence.

10. I should wrap things up here or this list will get unwieldy! So here goes… I love… my husband. My dear, poor husband, who often feels picked on, neglected, nagged. Yes, dear, I have my gripes, but never forget how much I love you passionately. I love your fish smoking and beer brewing ways. I love how you embody my favorite season, fall—building a warm fire, chopping wood in a flannel shirt, baking apple pies, sitting at your table under the lamp tying flies. Yes, we are different. You don’t like to read, and I like things a lot tidier, but somehow those things are not so important when it comes down to what we enjoy most out of each other and life. Like our ability to just sit on the couch and listen to music and talk (or NOT talk!) for hours. And if I haven’t said this recently, let me tell you again how much I love watching you with Cedar. I love the throaty growl with which he’s decided to intone your name (Baba!), and I love the mischievous light in his eyes and yours as you chase him through the house, running to dive onto the bed, collapsing into tickles and laughter. I love your gentle and patient, yet firm ways. I know we will be good partners in compassionate discipline. I know we see eye to eye on parenting, and this is not something to be taken for granted. What else do I love about you? I love… your deep sensitivity to nature and to life’s evolving flow. I love your ability to stay calm in the midst of chaos and change; I love your ability to stay open to inner growth and always on the lookout for taking on new opportunities that scare the shit out of you, but that you know will be good for you. I love your humility, your down-to-earthness, your country bumpkin redneck hippy meets urban commuter technological music fiend. I love you, honey. I love our life, as much as I like to complain about it. I love our story, our past, and I love dreaming together of our future. I love this life, this breath, the eternally unfolding expanding and contracting mystery embodied in this moment.

This moment. I love the unknown possibilities inherent, ripening, ripened: waiting for us to show up and take hold.

Remembering The Sea

Recently, we went on a five day excursion, first to see friends in Portland and then to the coast. "Is this the longest trip we've taken since having Cedar?" I asked my husband.

We quickly surveyed our previous adventures. There have been three camping trips since Cedar was born, each for three days and two nights. There was three nights we spent on Whidbey for my sister's wedding this August, and two nights on a whirlwind trip to San Diego the year before, for my cousin's wedding. There was another two night trip to Portland, an overnight with my family in Grapeview, and many weekends spent at Grandma's in Olympia, but that's it.

We have not been the most adventurous of new parents, but we've tried our best to have some fun. It feels necessary for me to get physical distance from our house where Cedar and I spend so much time, but it's also tiring to pack up all our clothes, food, diapers and gear, tiring to try and get Cedar to nap in unfamiliar places, tiring to disrupt our hard-earned schedules and get not-so-great sleep on impromptu beds on the floor, and tiring to then unpack, pack, and unpack again when we get home, do multiple loads of laundry along with the dishes left in a hurry in the sink, and then try to get back on our usual schedule so that we can keep our appointments with others the next week without Cedar being an exhausted mess.

But it's still worth it. And I still get that same familiar rush of anticipation and relief that I always have when we finally have everything into the car and we are off! Driving down I-5, Matthew driving, me playing DJ, coffee and tea warm in our mugs, and Cedar happily staring out the window in the backseat. We almost always aim to travel when Cedar is due for his nap, because as long as we keep driving (without having to stop at lights or in traffic), he will keep sleeping for at least 40 minutes, but hopefully 80 or more-- two sleep cycles, his usual nap length. As he begins to babble and show signs of drifting, I'll keep peaking back into the mirror that faces him to see if he's nodded off yet, and when his eyes finally close and his head lolls to one side, I'll give Matthew the 'asleep' sign we've developed (fingertips closed together), and then sigh as another layer of relief washes over me and I settle back into my seat for the ride.

I love road trips. I love that my husband doesn't mind driving the majority of the time, or more like all of the time ever since Cedar was born since I am sometimes needed in the back seat to feed or distract him during the last leg of a trip. I love the feeling of leaving the city and entering the rural; winding through country roads lined with towering maples, passing other people's homes and new territories they call familiar.

For our honeymoon over three years ago, we spent over a month exploring Canada and the Rockies, before coming back to Seattle to settle into our new home and life. "Purpose for your journey?" the border patrol asked as we barely snuck through to Eastern Washington before they closed. "You took your wife camping on your honeymoon??" He asked. We laughed. Yes, it was a mutual choice. We'd just relocated from Olympia to Seattle, neither of us had jobs lined up for the fall, but we had a wad of cash gifted to us by our wedding guests, so we had a rare flexibility to not have a rigid return date, but on the other hand, we knew that we probably shouldn't push our luck-- especially once we had to take our '89 Ford Taurus station wagon into a shop for repairs.

As it was, we were able to decide we were ready to go home before we were "forced" to go home, and upon returning home, Matthew received a job offer for a position that had initially turned him down. The stars were still with us! We dove into retarring the deck before the fall rains kicked in, and then took off for a friend's wedding in Leadville, Colorado, before returning in time for Matthew's first day of work.

I have fantasies of taking off on another trip like that, only I know that it'll probably be a couple years at least before it might actually be pleasurable to attempt a long trip like that with a young one in tow. I have fantasies of us having some kind of camper van so that we don't have to deal with setting up tents every night or getting wet, and of us dipping back into a remnant of our old hippy existence, living close to the elements, sitting around a fire every night, sitting in the sand by the ocean for days on end, letting the sound of the waves sink deeper and deeper into our skins.

Ever since Matthew and I have been together we've had a ritual of camping at the ocean every summer. The first year we went to Shi Shi, hiked far down the beach with our packs until we were far from other campers, close to a stream for water, and close to the area with the arches and most amazing concentration of sea stars and anenomes I've ever seen. By chance we ran into a friend and his ten-year-old daughter on the hike, and they camped a little ways from us, welcome unexpected companions by the fire. The four days or so we spent there were grey, but not rainy. Matthew kept the fire going the whole time, a warm beacon to return to after wandering excursions down the beach. We brought way more food than we needed, Matthew's sandal strap broke in the wet mud of the forest, and we had garbage bags to cover our packs if it rained. We were clearly not schooled in packing light nor equipped to be true backcountry hikers, but give us heavy packs and a few miles of flat terrain to get to a wild coastline far from the foot traffic of day hikers, and we are game.

I love that sense of sinking into the elements, that sense of timelessness that comes over me when I can just sit, wander, do yoga, read poetry, write in my journal. And usually, after a couple days, I don't even feel like reading or writing anymore. I am content to just sit there, listening to the waves-- or not listening anymore-- what I love is when you reach that place where you've been there long enough that you no longer notice the sound of the waves as something separate or other-- it's just there, with you, a part of you, a part of this amazing universe churning through your body.

The first day or so of camping at the ocean, when one is still relatively clean and fresh from indoor living, it is still more instinctual to keep oneself separate from the elements, to try harder to avoid getting sand in the tent, sand in the hair, sand everywhere. But the longer you are there, the more you realize that it's futile to try and keep yourself apart, and eventually you settle more and more into where you are, now lying directly onto the sand where you at first might have put a jacket under your head, eventually relishing in that salty feeling of being dirty, windswept, and unkept.

I cannot say that I reached this place of immersion with the elements this last week at Cape Disappointment (at the very Southwestern tip of Washington, near the mouth of the Columbia ) where we stayed in a yurt for two nights. But that's okay, I didn't expect this; I simply wanted to remember what the ocean felt like. It'd been over two years since I'd stood at her shoreline; we'd missed our annual trip the summer before due to our new immersion in life with a newborn. We'd gone to a few state parks on the Puget Sound, but these are not the same as standing at the edge of the rolling, wild Pacific. 

Our first day at Cape Disappointment we arrived in the midst of a storm. Fifty-mile an hour winds blew, and there was no way we would have stayed if we weren't sleeping in a yurt. What a treat it was to splurge on a yurt! It was the perfect way to camp with a toddler. We all stayed dry, a heater kept us warm at night, and a round skylight in the middle let in a warm glow of natural light, even despite the clouds. It was more or less childproofed already for Cedar, and we were a five minute walk from the beach. Then the sky cleared the next morning! A beautiful, sunny day at the ocean in late September? Unheard of! I don't remember the last time I saw sunshine at the coast, even in the summer.

Cedar loved it. Loved the wide open expanse to run around on, loved the sand to rub his hands across and sift through his fingertips, loved the slight edge of the dangerous unknown with the rush of the waves coming in, still  huge and tumultuous from last night's storm. Giant collections of sea foam floated along the beach, bubbling in their breathing masses. Flocks of pelicans flew in formation across the sky. At high tide, while Matthew and Cedar napped, I stood at the edge of the path to the beach and watched as the waves pushed in huge logs and rushed in so high, covering the entire expanse of the beach and sometimes coming up even further to the raised patch of land where I stood.

Wild. That's what the ocean is for me in a word. Wild. That's why I want and need to go to the ocean regularly-- to remind me of this force in the universe, this wild force which I am a part of. Nowhere else is this essential in and out, ebb and flow force of the universe, force of my breath, so obvious, so apparent. I breathe in and feel it in my body, how I am connected to this rush. I feel it in an instant, even if it would take many more days for it to sink in on the levels that I long for-- and weeks or months for it to sink in on levels that I can barely imagine right now. And yet, on some level, the ocean already speaks to me from this depth. On some level, I already know what it would be like to live by the sea for months, or years on end. On some level, this inseparable knowing is already a part of me, and that's why I crave it so.

Just give me a taste, that's all I wanted this week, just give me a reminder of what she feels like, the ocean, the sea. No, I did not have the same freedom to lie down and close my eyes, drift for hours on end into my own blissful place, separate yet connected to the blissful places that my companions might find, separate yet together in our silent, unfolding communion. Instead, I had only brief moments to stare out and take a few breaths, before checking to make sure that my son was not getting into any trouble, tag teaming care with my husband, engaging in our new ebb and flow, our new layer of partnership developed over the last 18 months. But you know what? This is okay. This is our life right now, a life in which our son-- and sharing this great world with our son-- lies at the orbit. As his mama, as his guide and protector, I see the world and the sea through new eyes, I appreciate the newness of everything in ways that only a child's eye can filter. And then I savor those brief moments where I can stand alone and take a breath that much more. I don't worry about not having hours or days to let it sink in. I take it in now, gulp up what I can, knowing that some day it will not be the same, and trusting that the power of the ocean is still reaching me, still seeping in, no matter what new layers of consciousness I may filter it through.

To journey to the ocean is to seek to have these layers drop away. Even if I only get a chance to stand alone at the shore for ten minutes, this is enough to scrape and rub at a bit of my shell. This is enough to receive a small window of remembering: I am raw, I am tender, I am frothing, I am wild. I am so much more than you or I can see.

Always, In Flux (Or: The Current State of My Fifteen-Month Old’s Napping, Diet, Language Acquisition, Growth and Development)

Babies are constantly changing. Everyone knows that. It’s one of those basic tenets of baby-rearing that becomes almost cliché. Just like the adage that goes, “Just when you think you’ve got them figured out, they switch it up on you.” True but, to most moms anyway, a cliché.

Babies are constantly changing, but there are definitely periods where the changes seem to come quicker, more suddenly. Skills that have been slowly coming along for months suddenly come together and voila! Suddenly, one day, you realize you are in the presence of a different baby. Not so different than yesterday, but definitely different than two weeks ago. Sometimes it’s the people who only see your baby every so often that are most able to articulate the marked change.

Cedar seems to be in one of those periods now. For one thing, he’s about to make that big leap from two naps to just one. Sigh. For the longest time he has napped around 10:00 and 3:00. We have had a three hour chunk in the middle of the day to eat lunch and then go on a long walk or excursion, meet up with a friend, or run errands. I’ve come to depend on this routine and appreciate its consistency. But as Cedar’s afternoon nap has continued to get pushed later, and consequently so has his bedtime, I’ve wondered lately if I should enforce the transition to one nap and get it over with. But then I’ve reconsidered; why force it? It should become obvious when he is ready.

Now, it’s looking more and more like we have reached the time to switch him over. Last week for three days in a row Cedar resisted going down for his first nap. I’d try, then give up, then try again, then give up, and finally he’d go down sometime between 11 and 12. But then the last couple days he’s been back to two naps, so this is all to say that we are no longer on a predictable schedule.

I know I just need to go with the flow for a while until he settles into a new routine, but it’s unsettling to me to have to play each day by ear and feel unsure about what we’re doing, when is bedtime, whether I can commit to plans with friends, or sign him up for that upcoming swim class. I know, I know, big friggin’ deal, right?  These are the kinds of deliberations that probably aren’t very interesting to others, unless you are a parent like me who is slightly obsessed with sleep and who really likes to have a routine. I am by no means someone who likes to over-schedule my day, but I sure do like to know when naps, bedtime and wake up time are. These are hard-earned badges of a tired parent. It unnerves me to have it change every day now in a seesaw pattern. And it can’t be that great for Cedar either. His little body has an internal clock too, and a transition like this no doubt will throw him off for a while--although I suspect he’s more resilient than I am.

It’s probably no coincidence that this switch to a new schedule coincides with a period where Cedar is really exploring the reaches of his body and environment. Cedar didn’t learn to crawl and cruise around on furniture until he was over a year old, and since then it’s still taken him a while to realize that he is free to roam at will through the entire house. He isn’t one of those babies who just took off and was everywhere once they learned to crawl. It’s only now, at fifteen months, where I can truly say he is into everything; every day he discovers a new (un-childproofed) corner full of plants or lamps, a new dubiously supportive chair to pull up on, a new shelf to pull things off of. Only now is he of that age where he will take off with a devious grin as you come after him, playing a game of hard to get. I’ve also been teaching him how to safely get off our bed (mattress) by getting on his belly and sliding his feet off first, and although he still hasn’t mastered the whole maneuver, he sure looks satisfied when he manages a close approximation.

My baby is becoming a toddler. He says, “Hiii…” in a sweet call and response with me, and he understands so much of what we say now—in both English and Chinese. My mom watches him five or six hours a week and speaks to him solely in Chinese. I reinforce what he learns with her by scattering in words and phrases throughout our day when I’m in the mood, and to my delight, this has been enough for him to understand the language! Gei wo, chuan wazi, xiezi, kai deng, kan  feiji… Give it to me, put on your socks, shoes, turn on the light, look at the airplane… he knows these, and plenty more. My baby is bilingual! It’s amazing how they soak things up and learn.

He also knows now what ‘no’ means, and he’s old enough to erupt in a tantrum of an arching back and screaming protest when prevented from doing something he wants. I’m seeing more of his stubborn will every day. It’s both exciting and daunting to think about this coming (nearly here, already here?) stage of toddlerhood. Perhaps I will soon long for the “easy days of old” when he was a baby, as much as I’ve longed for the “easier days to come” when I’m no longer nursing and can eat whatever I want again, not to mention leave him for a whole evening or (hard to even imagine now)— a whole week!

Quick diet update: I am still not eating any dairy, soy, garlic, onions, tomatoes, citrus, coffee or chocolate. When you can’t eat garlic, it’s near impossible to eat out (unless I want to just special order a plain piece of meat, after first ascertaining that they don’t cook with soy oil, so why bother when I can make something much tastier at home?). Soy, of course, is everywhere—in most store-bought breads, crackers, chips, spreads, you name it—so that is a big one I need to watch out for. Both soy and garlic still give Cedar terrible gas pains (last time I tested), which leads to a terrible nights of sleep for all of us. I’ve learned from experience many times that it is not worth it for me to eat soy in any quantity. I will eventually test these main off-limit foods again, but there’s plenty of other stuff to test and retest in the meantime.

With his other restrictions, I’ve started to allow a little here and there. Dairy gives Cedar a rash, but it’s not too bad if I just have a little on rare occasion. I will occasionally now allow some organic ketchup on a burger, or some canola mayo (that has lemon in it) on my sandwiches, because being able to eat those two condiments goes a long way in the flavor diversity department. I will also occasionally allow a rare, beautiful cup of coffee, which doesn’t seem to affect Cedar unless I start to have it multiple days in a row. And I will eat a few pieces of certain brands of salami or other items that contain the ambiguous ingredient “spices” which no doubt means a little onion or garlic powder, but which I can get away with in small quantities. I still stay away from cabbage and broccoli, especially raw. Beans, which I’ve tried a bit more of recently, seem okay.

It has gotten way easier, this diet, but we are far from being out of the woods. In the meantime, I’m still constantly trying out new foods directly with Cedar, and since it is a rare day when he doesn’t have some slight rash on his cheeks still, then it can be hard to gauge whether he is having a subtle reaction to something or not. I never want to feed a huge quantity of something to him before I’ve given him just a little the first time, and so inevitably there are many foods I have to give him several times before I can truly say (or guess) that they are okay.

So far (besides the aforementioned things that I’m not eating and so by extension am definitely not giving Cedar until he can first tolerate my eating them), he has also proved sensitive to: bananas, strawberries, possibly potatoes and corn, and also plums, apricots, and peaches. I plan to retest the latter-mentioned fruits because I so hope he can enjoy with us the summer harvest, but I’ll hold off on the other stuff in the time being because my suspicion is great enough, and because there’s plenty of other new stuff I can introduce to him first.

This is such a slow process because I don’t want to test stuff on him if he’s already got a rash, and I also don’t want to test stuff on him if I’ve eaten something questionable myself within the last couple days. For the longest time I was also following the ‘wait three days after trying something new’ rule, but lately I’ve grown impatient and sometimes only wait a day or two if we are trying foods that I’m not that worried about. I’ve tried both egg yolk and whites on him separately, but he didn’t eat much of them, and his ensuing rash the next few days was not obvious enough for me to be able to say definitively if it was from the eggs or not. I haven’t gotten around to trying any nuts or shellfish on Cedar yet, but I have given him tuna and salmon which seem okay, thankfully. Wheat and gluten are fine too (thank god—it wouldn’t be fair for one kid to have so many restrictions!), as are all the meats he’s tried—chicken, turkey, beef, and a tiny bit of pork.

Because of our slow progression in trying new foods, and also because he is somewhat of a picky eater (well, who wouldn’t be when you have only been allowed so few things), Cedar’s diet right now consists mostly of a few key foods: oatmeal, bread, pasta, and puffs; blueberries (his favorite), apples, pears, and peas; a bit of the aforementioned meats (he’s not so hot on plain meat- who can blame him- but LOVED the bbq smoked chicken); carrots he can take or leave, and the same goes for green beans, beets, or squash. I’m constantly trying to strategize what else I can give him, as this diet seems rather boring and often vegetable deficient (usually all he’ll eat are peas and avocados) and protein deficient. It’s hard to make things more enticing when there are still so many foods and spices he hasn’t tried. His main source of protein is still breast milk, and since he can’t have any other kinds of milk, this means it’s important for me to keep nursing for some time—especially until he’s outgrown some of his allergies.

I’ve thought about sharing some of the ways we’ve learned to make food taste good during this period with so many restrictions, although I doubt that many people out there with food sensitivities would match our particular list of what’s okay or not okay. (People always assume that I can’t have gluten when I mention ‘food sensitivities,’ because that’s the allergy that has become more common and thus recognized in our culture. Restaurant people also often don’t realize that soy is in everything, and that vegetable oil = soy oil. And I’m not vegan; I eat eggs and meat, but I can’t do dairy.) I know, it’s a lot to keep track of. But personal gripes aside, I doubt that there are many out there who have to avoid the combo of dairy, garlic, onions, tomatoes and citrus. How do you cook a tasty pasta without these things?! Think lots of olives, capers, mushrooms, peppers, or artichoke hearts; plenty of herbs, olive oil and balsamic vinegar. For other flavor punches, also think bacon, roasted root veggies, and lots of avocados. And think spices like celery salt, paprika, and cumin. Not curry powder though, because that has garlic in it usually, and nothing too spicy either.

Anyway, this blog post is all over the place. I guess it’s just my personal taking stock of where we’re at now during this period of solstice and change. We’re growing up, we’re letting go, we’re stuck in old ways, we’re holding on. We’re trying to remember to appreciate each day, each stage, and each small new success along the way. We’re not walking yet, but we’re getting closer every day, and not that much in a hurry. (I was relieved, however when Cedar finally started crawling because it is such a useful skill for him to have in the interim before walking, even if it is not an essential milestone.)

What else? We’re packing up the 12 months, well into the 18s, already wearing some of the 2T tops, and soon, believe it or not, even 3Ts will be on the radar. (Our collection of hand-me-downs are in constant rotation between the too big or too small boxes in the attic, the “holding drawers” for the next size on the horizon, and then the one big drawer for current mainstays.) One month, one age, one size bleeds into the next, and before I know it, I’m signing my baby up for co-op preschool (starting next fall! Just one morning a week, though).

Some days I think that my life is incredibly tedious and boring. Other days I feel incredibly thankful and blessed. Some days I can’t wait for Cedar to get older and start going to school so I can claim back more time to write and work. Other days I just want to savor these days when he’s still a baby, my constant companion, sidekick, boob man, snugglebug nestled into my chest. I want it to faster, I want it to go slower. Always this push and pull, push and pull. Always, we finally reach out only when someone is about to leave. Always, something to praise, something to disdain. Always, in flux. Always, the norm. Always, surprises. Always, this moment to anchor my fly-away thoughts, to anchor my being in what is.