For various reasons, this week is particularly dense with projects, urgent errands, and gatherings that have nothing to do with the baby. As a result, I'm fighting for time to relax with him at home (never mind strolling with him at a leisurely pace in a new neighborhood). And when he's sleeping and I have some time to myself, there are four or five people to call and a busload of small chores to tackle. Getting to this blog has been challenging as well; for the last few days I've usually written in a state of near-desperation at close to 10 pm, when sleep presses down on me with the energy of a vortex.
Be that as it may. At noon today we found ourselves strolling for twenty minutes near my mother's house. He was sleeping; I was remembering how it felt to walk with her after the lung cancer had made it necessary for her to be hooked up to a constant oxygen supply. Even with oxygen, her lungs had all but given up; she only managed to walk at a glacial pace and had to sit down on a bench near her house after just a few minutes. There was little conversation; I knew that towards the end she was just going through the motions. And this was a woman who had never just gone through the motions.
And yet. Walking with her along the pathway directly behind her house, gazing at the grass, fruit trees and flowers all around us, I think we both felt good. The moment was distilled into just a sense of being alive, and enjoying the presence of the person next to us. And it was a good moment. Something I've experienced almost every day with the little guy, over and over again.
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