After those hideous 100+ degree days that left us unable to go swimming in the bath water of a neighborhood pool and left my Candian friends gloating, the weather has finally cooled off. With the windows open (a must-have for when your husband paints counters with something toxically-high-inducing) and the fans on, it is cool in the house. Cool enough for me to, you know, wear capris or shorts and not want to strip the second I walk in the door.
(WHAT?! I'm hormonal, post-partum and hot. So WHAT if my poor husband has hardly seen me properly dressed since March!)
As I walked back from school today, I thought back to last fall and how far we have come.
Last fall, I was juuuust pregnant with Cole and slightly terrified. This fall, Cole is a happy and healthy 5 month old.
Last fall, Georgie was talking, crawling, eating some solids, taking a bottle and sleeping through the night. This fall, he is walking, climbing, table dancing, talking less, addicted to a sippy of milk and not sleeping through the night. Our local Infant and Toddler Services are coming out in two weeks to evaluate him. I honestly hope he qualifies for something. While his receptive language is awesome, he's lost words. He used to say bra-bra, dis, dat, ba-ba and a few more. Now, all his words are sounds "ma" for milk, "ba" for bottle (cup), whoo-whoo (train, the only thing that might count as a real word), hu-hu (zhu-zhu,for his zhu-zhu pet).
I thought to myself today, "I wish he had been a December baby." And I really do. Even two more mesealy weeks would have done the kid wonders.
We are hurling towards his second birthday. In many, many respects, this second year has been ooddles easier than the first. We are past all the anniversaries. We made it through all the mildstones. It's not quite old hat but it is easier. I know what to expect. I know how to steel myself against the onslaught of emotions. I have better drugs.
With Septemeber comes planning for Halloween costumes, thinking about Christmas cards and the NICU Thanksgiving. Two years ago, my only thought was if I would be in the hospital at Christmas, how early to send out holiday cards. My baby was on my radar. The NICU was not.
It's almost fall, the end of the season, the end of the year, the slow dying before the darkness of winter.
This year, joy, not sorrow, is on my radar. Moving forward, glancing back only to see how to merge to the next lane, so as to keep moving forward. The rhythem of the year, the seasons of life, coping with the sorrow that sometimes mingles with joy.
It's almost fall, ya'll.
But that doesn't mean winter is coming.