Saturday, 7 July 2012
Just the Two of Us
This week, I reached a milestone that I never wanted to mark; eighteen months of 'trying'.
Eighteen half-formed hopes and small losses. Eighteen months of lonely longing and silent fears.
Time enough for a baby to be conceived, carried and delivered into loving arms twice over. Time enough for hope to harden into a small nugget of desperation.
Of course, it feels like a long, long time. Of course I long to grow this little family of ours, and of course I dream of a day when there will be more bodies to cradle, more cheeks to kiss and more tummies to raspberry.
But for now, for the most part, it's just the two of us.
And, in truth, there's a quiet magic in that.
I spend my days with this boy by my side, smiling at his smile, listening to him talk, joining in his play, exploring the world by his side and working with him at my feet.
He's, my playmate, my shadow, my helper, my friend. And even though I may worry about the future, in the present I am completely content.
Today, when he woke from his nap, I held him on the sofa until he smiled then I put on his shoes and ran beside him through the sun-soaked, rain-drenched grass. We dug together in the semi-sodden sandpit, ate blackcurrants straight off the bush, played 'tennis' on the lawn, then I washed the windows whilst he drove Daddy's car and ate illicit muesli bars in the passenger seat.
We ate baked Camembert in a companionable sort of silence, slurped mango until the juice dripped down our wrists and ran off our chins, then put on Frank Sinatra and danced crazily around the living room, before snuggling on the sofa for stories before his bath.
It was an ordinary early evening. We were together, and it was an everyday sort of wonderful.
Perhaps this time for just the two of us - this chance to walk quietly at my boy's own pace and watch him grow by his side -is its own special kind of gift after all.