It was our unnoficial anniversary yesterday (first date.) Nine years. We ate Mexican on the waterfront, with a perfect sunset and perfect weather. Now the remnants of hurricane Hannah bring rain and thunder. I'm so in love with my man. Still. More than ever. He's like good wine.... He's aged well. He's hotter, more confident, kinder, and more thoughtful than when I met him. In other small big news, we just got back from buying lots of track and trains to add on to Bean's collection--a reward for the momentous milestone: he's slept in his OWN BED all night for the past five nights. We moved his room--and his new room (my old studio space) is so cozy and snug and fun. He loves the bright sepia walls, the gabled ceilings, and a new soft rug to play on. And remarkably, he was game to sleep in his bed the whole night--waking up to check that his nightlight was on, and then going back to sleep.
This is huge. This is beyond huge. At the beginning of the week, after his first successful night, we celebrated with cupcakes (homemade, from Nigella Lawson's How To Be A Domestic Goddess) with purple frosting. I figured: anything to sweeten the deal. And it seemed to work.
But perhaps underneith it all, he was just ready. He was like that with all his milestones: throwing out his pacifier for good at 10 months; weaning at 16 mos; potty training effortlessly at about 18-24 mos. It's something to remember about him--when he's really ready, it won't be a struggle.
Isn't this true for everyone though? So much of what makes things a struggle daily is that we don't feel ready, we feel rushed, croweded, over-booked, over-worked, frazzled. If we have adequate time to wrap our heads around things, it's not so hard to get everything accomplished, and then some. Or at least that's how it is for me. And this is partly why I took a blogging break. I needed more time in my days.
Time to just be with my guys, and to settle into the pace of teaching again. Time to treat myself gently (I'm still feeling iffy, the nausea still creeps up every day at some point.) Time to make purple cup cakes and redecorate and take naps with DH while Bean is at his grandparents house. And it's been good. I needed to slow down, though it's not something I do naturally.
Still I missed blogging. Missed teasing out little snippets of my day into the yarn of sentences, the fabric of paragraphs. I missed the quirky dialogue that takes place here in the comments (the Internet = my only source of parenting advice, for one.)
And today when we hauled a huge bag of clothing to Plato's Closet to try and sell them, we were told, "These [five items] are the only ones we could take. The rest are too mature in style." And immediately, I thought of you. Because who else can I go to and whimper: THE LADY AT PLATO'S CLOSET JUST CALLED US OLD.
Am I old?
Damn. I guess I am. Old enough that my bag of cast-offs (lots of unwanted gifts from well-meaning relatives) aren't trendy enough for a second hand store. Oh well. Goodwill was happy for them, and either way, my closet has way more space.
I'll stop whimpering immediately if anyone has any good tips on where to buy maternity clothes that don't cost boatloads? Because my belly is popping out (way faster than with Bean) and even the Bella Band I'm starting to feel like a sausage.