(No, we did not realize the cabin was named The Cedars until my aunt mentioned it a few months ago, after we had already named Cedar. I had never really noticed that sign over the porch door!)
These pictures are just from a month ago at the cabin, and already he has changed so much, grown so much stronger. Today I drove to an arts festival in our old neighborhood and he snuggled down in the maya wrap, just peeking his head out, leaning into me and sucking on his fists through the fabric, all agog at the crowded streets and tented crafts vendors. On the way home he needed a break so I pulled into a pumpkin farm with piles of lemon yellow, blue and red, variegated green, white ~ you name it ~ pumpkins and gourds. He was utterly fascinated, soaking it all up like a little sponge. I brought home peach honey and strawberry butters (and a four-leaf clover from the parking lot.)
No longer will I be a shrinking violet about driving and his fussiness. I will forge bravely ahead, trying to integrate his baby moods into our adult life. Only recently have I begun to keep an hour to myself after nursing, swaddling and laying him down. It's hard to not jump to make him happy ~ to try to read him and satisfy him and forestall him (all day). The intense bond from birthing him is so overwhelming and tenacious and utterly deep-rooted. I lose myself in it. Like I am him and all my day is about him but yet I also need a break...and then when I get a break I am still back with him somehow. I carry my stress in my lungs, and forget to breathe. Yet lately perhaps due to a hormone shift or a growth in his ability to entertain himself ~ to see him a bit more able and self-assured and able to communicate, I find myself on steadier ground emotionally and more interested in reaching out to others. Which is so crucial. A short conversation with another mom can lay all sorts of worries to rest.