After a full week of misery, I think we're on the mend. I think. I also don't want to jinx it because this Friday kicks off our nearly two weeks of constant Halloween festivities and parties and celebrations. I've felt well enough to mop the floors, try to tackle the never-ending laundry problem, grocery shop and start feeding my family food that isn't soup, so I suppose it's all uphill from here. Ethan has his lingering wheeze and cough that happens anyway thanks to the gift of asthma and I only ten percent sound like a hoarse old man so, you know, silver lining. Or something.
Our city recently launched a Green Market that takes place in a financial complex parking lot which means there is a makeshift yoga studio in the bank drive-through area. It's a quirky little market -- last week there were pirates doing some kind of demonstration in the middle -- and it's existence is the highlight of my Saturday. It was our first real outing in a week and it just so happened that the temperature was a beautiful eighty-four degrees (you know, what Floridians consider a cool, wonderful fall day).
I just love this time of year. Or, rather, I would if we could be healthy long enough to fully enjoy it.
Yesterday afternoon there was this wave of finally feeling better that passed through our house. As we were putting away the laundry, Ethan and I took a break to pull out all of the clothing that no longer fits from his closet. I've done this job before with his infant clothes, holding onto sentimental outfits (the first outfit we bought when we learned he was a boy, the first outfit Grandma bought him, etc.) and dividing the remainder into two piles: clothes to keep for future siblings (all of my discounted Hurley, Quiksilver scores) and clothes to sell or donate. It was a daunting task then, packing up the last onesie and closing out the first chapter of Ethan's life. The baby clothes have been gone or put away a while, but this was the first time I had to sort through his big boy clothes and put things away into similar piles. The first time I had to pack up a pair of pajamas that I feel like we just bought for him, fold up the shirt he wore during his two year pictures, smile as I put aside my favorite sweater of his from last holiday season. Clothing that he'd run in, swam in, slept in, splashed in mud puddles in. Clothing from times and memories that I couldn't believe we already so long ago that they no longer fit. It almost felt like the wind was knocked out of me as I clipped the 3T and 4T closet dividers up onto the closet bar and continued the clothing hanging process.
To add salt to the wound, today we took the baby set off of Ethan's Tripp Trapp and it went from highchair to just chair.
I have been busy wishing away these days of sickness and sneezing and fevers and coughing, of garbage bags filled with empty soup cans and popsicle wrappers and used tissues. But this past week, holed up in the house, just Ethan and I, have been just another string of days we won't get back. Days spent painting pumpkins and laying on the green grass of our backyard for the sake of fresh air and a change of scenery. This is my most favorite time of year and I have promised myself to soak up every second with the knowledge it won't always be forever. Not the sleepless nights, the three a.m. wake-ups, the fight over blowing his nose. Not the snuggled up afternoons on the couch, the trips to the grocery store with his skeleton head in tow. I'm so ready for fall, to breathe it in and revel in every last moment of this beautiful, always changing, fleeting life.