So this past week, there have been a lot of lasts. The last night at the apartment. When Ray came into the kitchen, he kept opening cupboards and saying “Oh no, all gone.” The last day/night with Brian before he went in, which was very emotional. I fell apart a little bit, but that’s only to be expected.
Then there are the firsts. The first time Ray saw the moon during daylight hours. The first commute to day-care, where we talked the whole way. He can now recognize a cow and say the word and knows that cows say “moo”.
There’s the first time in a long time that I’m not feeling stressed out and unable to cope. I feel safe. I feel valued. Sometimes Brian forgets how to do that, and when he’s stressed it’s completely lost. But my Daddy, he knows how to listen. Which is all someone really needs.
There’s the first time Ray woke up early and I took him outside. He chased down birds in the back yard, having so much fun at 6am it should have been illegal. Or the snails that he saw on the grass this Sunday morning, watching as they blazed their trail across the lawn.
The words that are coming fast and furious now. I know now that I say “cool” too much because my son now says it. Pop-pop, I love you. Lots and lots of words and phrases being born in his brain.
The first Saturday morning when Uncle Leonard came over and mentioned to Mommy that yes, it was now Ray’s time of sword and sticks and I needed to channel it in a good direction. The t-ball set promptly went up.
The first sleep over at Dad’s with Auntie Gacca. Playing outside, having fun, blowing bubbles all over the back yard.
There was my first morning, waking up at 5am just like my mom, so that I could have a little “me” time. Looking at the roses, watching the sky pinkning up, the birds singing and winging through the yard and always, always thanking God that my life is still so rich, so full.