This winter squatted a like a big chunky stinky butt in my face, belonging to the mother of all contradictions. I don't remember ever having a winter so melancholy, where everything about it felt like, "been there done that already." And in that mundane climate, my internal monologue turned round and round and tore off tread in the brain. I felt like I was pressing on the gas pedal and the break pedal at the same time; wanting so bad to fast forward into summer for the fun yoga paddleboarding season, but moment to moment trying to slow down, savor and freeze time with my baby girl. It was the winter that felt like it would never end and I hoped it never would.
Now the cherry blossom trees and forsythia bloom and a pile of baby clothing too-small-to-fit-anymore has sprouted in the closet. Every day that passes she is one day older, one day bigger. And I already miss that little snuggle nugget. I wish I had every minute on video tape.
I can look back at the pictures from this winter and feel like something happened, something developed. But really it passed around me while I hibernated with the baby in arms. The magic of winter begged to get into the house and get our attention. Begged us to go skiing or build a snowman. It seemed like Elsa paid us a visit and left patterns of ice on the bay windows. But these melted quickly and not even the orchids were phased.
The kids played video games. Nala learned how to Minecraft.
They played outside sometimes with the other kids in the neighborhood. Here our neighbor gave Nala a sled ride on his power wheel chair. I ran outside and snapped a pic. She loved it, of course.
One day it snowed and then warmed up to 50 degrees shortly after. That 50 felt like 80.
And these beautiful kids grew up together. Laughing and sharing and fighting. Still sleeping in the same room.