…because last week we were too sick to notice the mere passing of days.
Perhaps because not much really happened and then normal things happened, the week seems to have passed without many photos being taken or things being done.
It’s it really Friday already?
How do some weeks fly by so swiftly? Monday: nothing.Tuesday: nothing *whoosh* Friday: we can say ten different colours and ten new words and do ten new things and have ten new favourites.
It was a good ‘un though.
It’s very, very surreal when a week starts and ends in exactly the same place but at opposite ends of the spectrum.
In the beginning it was fast and fun and nerve wracking and exciting all at once. People descended and things happened and I laughed and I felt absolutely embraced by a community.
At the end it was lonely and quiet and bleak and still, as if to emphasise just how much of an impact was made only days ago.
In the same vane, the bubbly little girl who giggled and jumped and grinned her way into the new week became the sad eyed, sleepy, spotty little girl with eyelashes glistening with tears and a trembling bottom lip before the week was out.
It’s shown us how to be thankful; thankful that chickenpox, although horrible, has only hit us relatively mildly, thankful for the outpouring of love that has come for all over.
A week better described as a bonkers few days where we stopped not for breath but just for cuddles.
A phone that’s never stopped buzzing with emails and messages and plans and ideas. A husband forever covered in dust and paint and bits of old wallpaper and at 6pm every evening, his daughter; laughing and smiling and shining, thrilled to see him after a long day with just her mummy. A toddler with a huge imagination that has blossomed overnight and absorbs everyone around her into her very own little happy world.
Trip after trip to DIY stores, baking cakes and drawing chalk pictures on the ground. As close to ‘normal’ as I think we’ve ever been.
And it feels OK.
This week it feels like so much and so little has happened all at once and my head is spinning and my daughter is running circles around my legs and things threaten to spiral out of control while I stand, dizzily trying to make sense of it all.
We got the keys to our house a few days ago which turned out to be both a relief and a worry. That relief and worry has since turned into our lives as we try to get a grasp of what we need to do and sign and paint and organise.
And then there was this. A post written really as a thank you that somehow for some reason took off (and in ways is still taking off) and has left me with a bursting inbox to reply to and tears at people kindness and more tears at people’s superficial judgements.
Seven days that are impossible to capture in photographs, so I’m sharing only one because it is of all that matters, no matter what else may be happening. And a bird on a wire, just because.
It turns out that ignoring feeling a little bit ill and deciding to carry on and burn out and not find the time to indulge even a little for a week leads to feeling more than a little bit ill.
The last week saw me crawl back to bed one afternoon and not surface until the week was almost out. What started as ‘no, I just feel a bit flu-y. It’s ok, I’ll be fine…Oh, alright then I’ll go and rest, but just for a little while’ mutated into super bad chest pains and a bit of gasping for breath thrown in for good measure.
It’s amazing just how much being AWOL for as little as a day and a half can be felt. It’s amazing that when you stagger downstairs, bleary eyed and sore and tired and hot and cold and achy all at the same time to be greeted by a beaming toddler who proudly announces ‘mummy!’ *points to sock* ‘yelelow!’.
And not just that, inches have been grown and hair is blonder and speech clearer and oh my goodness I have to go back to bed again because the world is spinning and you’re growing up far too quickly.
What’s most amazing of all though is how, for the first time ever, being upstairs and alone wasn’t (isn’t) a sanctuary and is instead lonely and boring and when the giggles and yelps float up through the floor my heart pangs for all I’m missing. Because for the first time it’s obvious and sad and painful to miss.
It’s Mega-Blok fortresses and thrones and carrying ‘baybee’ around while tenderly patting her back. It’s learning new words at a mile a minute and it’s getting spoon to mouth before any food has the chance to fall off. It’s yelelow.
It’s being a mummy. It’s her.
Another week of more thunder and lightening only this time it seemed to clear the air and leave goodness in its wake and puddles like giant pools that soaked us to our knees as we splashed.
This was the week that saw the eighteen month milestone, which – naturally – was celebrated by dressing up A LOT, dressing up some more and flicking through a novel with one wellingtoned foot and curly bunches.
Out of nowhere sprung this real little girl, full of more personality and wit and genius than ever before. After months of trying and failing to encourage words they started to flow with no prompts or bribes, the more random the better – Stop! Look! Yellow!
With the clearer air came clearer minds, finding at last positivity and excitement and clarity in where we are and where we were and where we are going to be because we are determined now. It will happen, the sun always comes out in the end.
More excitement came in the red and shiny form of new shoes and a batch of baking for the first time in ever at the discovery of the best new icing ever invented.
And then we dressed up some more, embracing our new found ability to say “off!” and forcing grow ups out of their layers and their layers to drape over a smaller form, while we looked more and more grown up ourself by the second and the rain fell and the sun shone and first shoes were packed away with bittersweet emotions and cakes were eaten with happy smiles.
Sometimes you ask and ask and ask for help and answers and explanations and yet you get nothing. Sometimes all you need is to be acknowledged, getting nothing then can be the worst thing.
This has been a pivotal week where everything and me have been ignored.