Ezra is 143 days old. Can you frikkin' believe it? I feel as if he has been part of me and my life always. And I suppose in a way he has. I am amused, entranced, astounded by him every day. I watch in awe as he discovers the ways and means and details of life in every second he is awake, never tiring in his quest to find something new. I watch his mouth twist in smiles and anguish as he sleeps, dreaming of things I will never know. I see innocence, intelligence, wonder, as he learns, as he grows, as he explores the tiny piece of this world that he inhabits. I watch myself watching him and I am intrigued to see that his amazement at all things new is mirrored in me. I thought I would eventually be bored by a baby, enough to warrant a return to the adult world of work and considered response, I cannot fathom that rationale now.
We are close to our great trek out of small town suburbia and into the wilds of farm life. I try to think about it as little as possible because my patience is running out, which means, of course, that it occupies my mind at every turn. I have decorated that house a hundred times in my head, not just with furniture but with hopes and dreams and scenes of bread baking, apple growing, laughter and love. I cannot believe that my luck has carried me this far, this close to the things I have wished for. There is a soundtrack to my life now, things are happening so fast and with such remarkable joy that I can't help but see it in a musical montage. I am a sentimental fool, but one who knows just how lucky she is. Be happy for me, I am overjoyed for myself.
It is new to me, this hunger for each new day and what it will bring, I have lived my life looking back for so long that turning around seems dangerously optimistic. But I am an optimist, albeit one with a bad sense of direction.
I cried yesterday in sadness, the first tears not welled from joy in a long time. A rat came staggering drunkenly across the kitchen floor at me, poisoned by my hand. It seems unfair that in the midst of my happiness I need face the reality that I chose to kill this innocent little creature to protect my child. Yin & yang? It's hard to accept that I have the power to choose a life at the expense of others. I know this will be the first of many hard decisions to make, when I am asked to abandon my own instincts, my own moral compass, in the interests of my son. I wait longingly for the day when I can explain this to him, when he can understand that I do these things not because I think they are right, but because it is my responsibility as his mother to protect and defend him when he cannot. Even if that means tears.