The last few days have been wet and cold and while there are still golden hues attached to the branches it will only take a few more wisps of wind for them to fall. I said to Daniel not long ago that I sometimes long to live in a place that has definite seasons - sun in summer, snow in winter. Fresh blooms in spring and an entire town of red/orange/yellow trees. That desire only came about after I had Che...I think it may have something to do with the story books we read...they all follow the seasons and perhaps in retrospect I longed for the magic of snow in my own childhood.
We live on a street lined with liquid ambers and the allure of autumn is something I look forward to each year. While watching Che run over leaves a few days ago, listening to the crunch of them underfoot, I was taken back to this very time last year, when he started to walk. How much difference a year makes. The words are flowing from his mouth in the most perfectly formed sentences and Daniel and I sit in awe at the little person before us. While I am delighted by his exuberance and quirk I can't help but feel a certain sadness that his is growing up. I'm sure this is shared by mothers the world over - that desire to just stop the getting so big, even for a day. It's been the first time since I weaned him (at 23 months) that I missed it. Missed that connection, missed that dependence, missed the chance to just be while he fed.
And yet after the challenge and disruption of the past month we have reached the calm and I am so grateful. Our lives have settled into a rhythm again and while he may keep growing - leaving the baby and moving into childhood - I'm thankful that I have the opportunity and the space to witness it. Every single day.