As of yesterday, Ezra has been earthside for one month. I’m taking it one day at a time, on those slower days, one hour at a time. I’m getting used to a messier home, to a pace much slower than before.
I’m giving thanks for a little girl who loves her baby brother and who desperately wants to look after him, who tells me when she thinks he needs cuddles, or milk, who tries to make him laugh. I’m trying to remember that although she seems okay, I still need to cut her some slack – she still needs some very special Mama time.
I’m slowly – s l o w l y – making my way through a growing to-do list. Presents, cleaning, painting, gardening. I’m beginning to understand that some of these things won’t get done.
I’m sleeping well, still choosing an extra hour awake to read or watch another episode of Mad Men, instead of one more hour in bed.
I’m amused and fascinated by Ava’s strong sense of self – her assured nature and her demands. Feeling challenged every day to be as gentle and patient as possible, but never doubting that this, more than anything, is what she needs right now.
I’m enjoying every single minute of holding Ezra, of his lovely, familiar smell, his own unique finger patterns, his wide-eyed gaze and love of looking out windows, his curled up little body next to mine – everything, all of him, the moreness of it.