The fall is here.
Crisp air, golden light and the upturned ceramic bowl of blue up above
with
dreamy elongated shadows and the weather extraordinary.
Nirvaan
and I talk to the trees when we go for a walk. We look at anthills and fallen
leaves and we plan vacations and sometimes life too. The song-like feel of
early autumn. This
autumn is rather special.
My boy. He is ten!
His early
birthday party passed on the weekend, the indoor game arcade, with friends –
tons of them and mummy!
We've made it. We're beyond early
childhood.
He gets ready for school himself; he takes his elder brother role
for the infant cousin very seriously.
He talks to strangers and expresses
opinions about things with elan.
Has shot up in height and confidence
in dollops over the last year.
Perfectly balanced on the cusp of
rest of the two digits life – I cant help but marvel back to that Oct.
The dipped in white dark-eyed beautiful new born he was. To my over
anesthetized being he came out not wailing but calm as pure oxygen - blessing! And this Oct when he turned two and I was looking at this date
It does and it doesn't get easier,
the older he get. When he was a baby the constant attention of every single
moment, to every single moment – was demanding. As toddler, preschooler all the
way through to the early primary years – it was non-stop high demands – yet the
demands themselves were small. The negotiation over bath and sleep time, the
dislike of broccoli and extreme attachments to stray dogs and picking up rocks
for the collection. The complexity of these simple moments
Now it is the complexity of being alone. The discovery of self. The absolute of
independence. The hunger for protection. The need to stand out, or to fit in. Best
friends, secrets, homework and extra curricular, and the dislike of being asked
to fix his own room. We're in the epoch of homework, singing and guitar
practice, weekend math and TV marathon, and nights when his mind spins and he
can't fall to sleep.
The half way mark between now and when he'll take off into the wide orbit of
his own life.
Sometimes in the morning on the
weekends, we jump on the bed and go for a swim or walk; with him constantly
chattering about his inventions, mythology, characters from favourite book or
shows.
Mummy, he says, can I tell you
something? And then he'll launch in, my mind trailing his. Now engaging, now
planning day’s task or next day’s chores.
Looking back at last year's birthdayI still see the toddler in him. Slowly it’s fading but it’s still there –
sometimes more emphatic – full of precocious sensitivities – and then most
times, it morphs into this boy of jigsaw puzzle of baby fat and developing muscle
and movement and song. Every waking second he's chattering or joking or laughing.
He launches into explanations about
science or mythology, swims nonstop for two hours, watches TV whole day and run
races while shouting “Sloppy Mummy” - straight and far.
The weekdays go by in blur. In the mornings – it’s always a slobbery overload
of kissies and mumma hugs. And have a lovely day! School and work. We do the same things. We do
different things. We spend our days mostly doing our own stuff – picking up
conversations – topics as diverse as mitosis and meiosis to ancestral aligning
of swans and dinosaurs to the way world works certain ways and it doesn’t.
As we sit together for dinner at
night he tells me stories about his day. Mummy, he asks, what was the most interesting thing that happened to you
today? He doesn't have perfect table manners yet, but he knows how to ask
questions with weight.
On the weekends there is sleeping
in. Milk and Chai breakfast. A movie or a trip to the park or mall. Some kind
of adventure or quiet or both.
We
went for a walk on the promenade. The harbour front speckled with city lights
and pockets of inky darkness. Beyond us, at the island
the waves move in choreography to say hello. Then fresh waves ride in
slantwise, full of vim, and crash headlong into the rocks against the rocks causing spray to skid off into the dusk.
The
night slowly bled into the twilight. I gathered my arms around my knees, and
listened. To the sea, to my breath, to my heart the one in the ribcages and the
one outside on two gangly legs of a 10 year old!
Being his mom became the pivot of
this last decade gone by. Being the facilitator to this wonderful human was the greatest gift I needed.
And as we gaze towards the shoreline
together – I see the future unfold with equal amounts of equanimity, speckled
with some human trepidations. Steadily, the earth turns and we are
made new. Both of us!
Have a Blessed Best Birthday, My
Blessing!
