Today's a Rainy Day

It always feels like I miss Andrew more on these days. Like my early days of grief, it was cold outside and snow was covering the ground-- but instead-- we are inside because the rain keeps us here. Babies don't exactly understand that rain is fun to play in quite yet.

So we find other things to do.

Today is also the first day of school. Every single year since I stopped teaching, I've been a little somber on these days. I held B at the window this morning (because he's been gracing us quite early these days) and watched a mom take her child's photo in front of the front door as he prepped to head off to his first day of school. I watched the little boy across the street head off to the bus stop and saw the bus pull away with children inside, so excited for their first day with a new teacher, new friends, new grade, new shoes and clothes that they probably slept in the night before because they were so excited.

I miss it. I miss teaching.

I miss Andrew. We're rounding the corner to two years and it just seems so shocking still, at times.

The rain makes all these emotions seem as fluid as itself. In so many ways, there are three lives I want to be living, all at the same time. A teacher. A mother to Andrew. A mother to Benjamin. But it doesn't seem like any of the three can happen concurrently. This is where I am meant to be right now.

We spent the day in the kitchen, as usual, creating and concocting and reflecting. Benjamin has spent the majority of the day with his thumb in his mouth and teething something fierce. The shrieks he's learned to make will send your heart racing as you'd assume he was being tortured or something. Nope, just a new sound he somehow learned.

We're nearing 6 months with Andrew's brother and we're just still so in awe that he is ours and he is here and real and living among us. Time to go rescue him from his crib. I can hear the sounds of a little boy just waiting to be cuddled. And by cuddled, I mean a child who will wriggle in my arms, turning his head side-to-side as not to miss a thing, insisting that I hold him and walk him from room to room.

I can hear the shrieking now. Must go.