(Disclaimer: This is going to be a “where has the time gone?” post. Consider yourself warned.)
It’s March 4, and I’ve got all the windows open here in the apartment. Since we have a corner unit it’s actually pretty nice in here, but when it gets properly hot again I’ll be wishing for a proper cross breeze.
I can’t believe that we’ve been in LA for over six months. I’m glad that we’re over halfway done with our time here and will be moving on to our next adventure (Yay Akron!) soon, but believe it or not I’m also going to miss this weird city a little bit. I won’t miss the shitty air or the traffic or the weather (god no not the weather), but I will miss South Pasadena’s community, seeing flowers in January, and the lovely ladies who have dragged me kicking and screaming into friendship (ever notice that happens wherever I go? Why do perfectly nice people insist on liking me? It’s weird.).
The biggest little mindfuck with all of this, though, is that I came to LA with a newborn and I’m going to leave with a 13-month-old. And last week when we enjoyed the two days that pass for springtime in SoCal (we’re now firmly onto “summer”), it hit me just how goddamn quickly time is passing. Simon had another visible growth spurt overnight, and right now he’s laying on the floor flipping back and forth from tummy to back, and chewing on all his favorite toys. He seems so tiny but also…not. When we leave in a few months, he’ll be walking (or very close to it), eating grown-up food, maybe even saying a word or two. I really can’t describe motherhood as anything but “mindfuck”. The whole thing’s giving me whiplash. In the best possible way, of course.
In just a little bit here we’re going to get dressed, take the dog on her customary walk then read stories and practice sitting up. We’ll eat a bunch of boob and hopefully take a nap so I can cross-stitch or knit a bit. Then Jeff will get home and it’ll be chicken soup and biscuits for dinner. Pretty much like every other day, but also not, because he’ll never be this tiny again.