Oh, I have so much to tell you, too. This weekend we dropped Max off at camp - his first time, and in a whole 'nother state, too. There has been a forest fire near the camp recently, a terrible, huge one. It is dwindling now, but the air throughout the whole valley smells of cinders, and the pines are all wreathed in smoke. It's never easy to leave a kid at camp for the first time (ever), but trust Max to have his first leaving be perfectly dramatically staged. I am weary from longing so fiercely for him to be okay.
And then there was the weekend away, which I spent with Mom and Tre and Raphi and Sophia and the relentless absence of Max, visiting family that I never get to see enough of. I saw two cousins that I once would have described as "my little baby cousins, they're like, SO CUTE." Only now they're all grown up and adult and interesting and so beautiful that I keep squinting at them, trying to see any genetic traits we share. So far the list I have come up with is this: we are bipeds. Heavy sigh.
And plus while we were away, Clay was furiously at work here at home, because although I don't understand this, a long weekend of uninterrupted work is like a vacation to him. And now my bathroom is (mostly) all fixed, and my living room is a buttery yellow, and I love it. And Clay was so tired at dinner tonight that he couldn't think of the words he was trying to say.
I could tell you about any of those things, except tonight when I put Sophia in her crib, she responded by making a break for it. She clambered up, over the side of her crib and fell with a shockingly solid thump on the floor.
And then she cried, really, a lot, for a very long time. And Tre hovered and asked if we were going to take her to the doctor, or would we at least check on her during the night, and finally said firmly, "Well, I think we should pray for her."
And he was right, and we did. He couldn't see that Clay and I were still vibrating with the impact of her fall, or that we wouldn't sleep well anyhow. But he was right about the praying.
Now Clay is lowering the side of Sophia's crib so she can climb out without falling, until we can get her a little bed. And she is sleeping heavy on my chest, all exhausted damp curls and pink cheeks. I'm pretty sure she's okay, although I will be bothering her frequently during the night to be sure. I am several years older since I put her to bed, but that's just the privilege of parenting, am I right?
Life is relentless, and it flys past me at a pace that makes my breath get lodged in my throat.