Five.
I remember being five. I remember my yougest sister being born and what that meant being the oldest of four siblings already. I remember going to kindergarten and being too scared to speak. I remember dressing up in silk 'nighties' and having tea parties with my grandmother.
Five.
Five years ago. Those first moments, and that first year of parenting. How it was
all so new and unfamiliar, and how we stumbled along--sometimes falling
and sometimes with grace, until we all found our way together. And how,
still, with the oldest, it's always 'new' at each age--we'll always be
figuring it out together, as we go.
Five.
Five Years Old. With Cal turning five last week, I've been on a bit of an emotional ride. Five feels so old--so
not a toddler, but a full-on kid. A kid! There's a certain amount of
flight that I feel like is taking place right now--I mean, really, I've
been feeling it since his birth--the stretch towards some kind of
independence and autonomy, and then the retreat back. The cycle keeps
repeating. But at the moment I'm feeling the stretch, and it's so
bittersweet. His first 'drop off' class (theater,
naturally)--experiences and memories that are so totally his, and I'm
not a part of. The seperation. And then the need for the retreat
'home'.
Self Portrait Tuesday bloggers here and here.
