Monday, October 3, 2011

One day

We sat in the warm living room on a cold Sunday afternoon surrounded by familiar faces, the cosiness enhanced by the aroma of freshly baked sausage rolls invitingly waiting to be consumed alongside Moscato bubbles and cracked pepper pate. A 10 month old boy slithers across the polished veneer floors making a beeline for an abandoned toddler bike. Upon reaching his destination he manoeuvres himself into a position ready for standing, and with one hand on the handle bar and the other holding the frame he slowly pulls himself upright, steady and firm on his sock enclosed feet. We lock eyes, and he beams a radiant smile.

A 21 month old boy comes running over to take possession of his ride-on, because sharing is not part of this age group’s comprehension, and certainly is true in this case. He tries to wedge himself between the bike and the baby, and begins peeling white knuckled fingers one at a time off the plastic steering handle. Both boys are equally determined, but one has a slight advantage in that he can stand un-aided, and is 120mm (or 90mm) taller. The bonus about nappy clad bottoms is that the landing is soft. There are no tears. The toddler rides off to the kitchen on the bike (that is abandoned 3 minutes later).

I help myself to some more crackers, spreading them with generous layers of pate. I sit back in the armchair, take another sip (or 3) of wine, and savour the momentary peace. He is with his aunt, and he is content.

These two boys have an 11 month age gap. It will not be noticeable as they grow older.

I wonder if the adoration will wear off?

We talk about what it will be like when the boys read the blogs that their mothers wrote about them, for them, and sometimes to them. Wouldn't it be special if my mother provided me with an account of our day to day adventures, our comings and goings, our randomness and even our nothingness moments. It would provide me with a greater appreciation, and perhaps some insight for the hard work, dedication and devotion that goes into being a mother.

Someday. Someday one day when they are old enough to comprehend the words and stories about what their life was like, how much they were enjoyed, what we did when they were born, how it felt to us when they squiggled across the floor, what it meant to us when they first took a step, how when they fell over we held them tight and kissed their tears, when we tucked them in at night and held their soft hand as we whispered sweet nothings in their ear. Emotions and feelings are bound together and packaged into words and pictures emanating the depth of love from the core of our being.


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