It's been another long hiatus since I last posted. Life has been both beautiful and exceptionally hard. Short spells during these last months have been the darkest and most distressing of my short life. Everything is on the verge of going so wrong or so right and my days are a concoction of undecided emotions. I jump from frustration to magic, excitement and terror. The lack of control I have over my feelings scares me but I hope once plans are clear, once we are headed in a new direction, my mind will stop spinning.
We have been at home living what feels like a boring life. We have become so normal, so dull, but on occasion the drudgery is broken by leaving the city and spending the light filled days in the country with our family. As we walk to the lake to swim each day we pick wild berries hiding in the endlessly growing scrub. August whimpers at me until he has had his fair share of the succulent goodness. We pick vegetables from the garden and I'm like a little girl again, excited to walk barefoot and get dirty among the flowers. We almost never dress August during our stays, he runs around wildly and nakedly in all his toddler glory. He moves endlessly and tirelessly.
I watch them play for hours, August and his enchanting cousins. They kiss him and carry him every chance he allows it, following him around like a new toy. We all sit together on the soft, green grass and talk about space and the world and they ask why we have to live so far apart. My answer never seems good enough. I am just met with wide questioning eyes, tinted ever so slightly with the sadness of reality unwanted. One day they will understand.
Being August's mother is filling and at times unbearably frustrating. He is in every sense, a little boy, rough and unaware, careless and easily angry. His tiny legs and feet are always bruised and bloodied from boyish exploration. During an afternoon picnic at the beach I was treated with my wild boy throwing handfulls of sand into my face and hair with a gleaming grin. His cheekiness is undeniable. Only at night will he morph back into my sweet baby, snuggling into my breast he strokes my face and neck with a tenderness that exists only then. He falls into a deep sleep, comfortable in my arms. During the night I hear him wake for a moment before wiggling his soft body even closer to mine and draping an arm or leg over my torso. He always wants to be connected and I will savour that closeness forever.
These are the beautiful moments, the moments I relish rather than the bad.
When we're at home I am restless and I often wake uncomfortable during the night, light already seeping through the cracks in the blinds and I watch the shimmering image it casts on the dark wall before drifting back to my vivid dreams.
Rasmus leaves the warmth of our bed reluctantly, early each morning. He dresses quietly and then I hear the door close as he leaves for the day. I never summon enough strength to pull myself from my slumber and say "Good bye". I just hear his slow movements before he is gone and then I miss him with all my being. He is home now though, for a time, after hurting himself. His new battle wound adding to the growing collection makes me realise how similar August is to him. It is a relief and a joy to spend the days with him again. Our house feels cosier and busier. His presence makes me feel a sort of comfort I cannot explain.
In all of life's absurdity I forget sometimes that we are young still, young lovers with a wild baby. We are passionate, curious and wanderlusting but we have been too old and still. After months of dreaming we are, at last, in preparation mode. We are about to embark on several very new adventures and a very new stage in our lives. We will be busy planning and organising in the weeks to come and then everything will be different. And so it goes....