Equinox

For all those of you out there who balanced brooms, hung wreaths, or lit candles yesterday, I envy you.

It is here. My absolute favorite time of the year.
And I'm already doing it wrong.

I remember this time last year as I waddled on my daily three mile walk, I would place my hands on my belly, finally visibly pregnant after almost six months of looking like I'd just overdone it at lunch, and I would whisper to the fishmonster within about the changing colors of the landscape, the rolling moods of the ocean, the smells and sounds and wonderful magic of Fall. I would wonder about how I would feel a year later, with a baby during this most delicious time.
Here I am.
Yesterday was the first true day of Autumn, and I spent it walking the baby to sleep mostly. His sleep schedule is...well...we'll use the word "erratic" right now, as it's the kindest version of what I want to say. We've been sharing the family bed for almost two weeks now, and last night was by far the worst since we got off the floor of the tv room.
All the elements were in their correct positions...
He was full. He was clean. He'd done some serious diaper business earlier in the day. He'd even had two very long, very effective naps.
We went to bed around 7:45pm. The sweet spot.
We slept pretty well uninterrupted until around ten thirty or eleven when Beard came to bed.
And then the flailing began.
I have never known The Baby as flailer. He's usually curled up or spread out, and neither the twixt shall meet, but last night, every thirty minutes, his limbs began circling like an electrocuted frog's. He even tried sitting up, and the whole time, faaaaaast asleep.
Usually I can nurse him back down to a nice calm position, but there was nothing for it last night. I got up at midnight and hung out in the tv room for a bit, watching terrible BBC shows. Did the baby flail on my lap? No. He slept on, still as a stone. We came back to bed at one. I hoped the atmosphere had changed.
Nope.
Four hours later, the twice hourly flail-fest continued, and I finally bundled up the babe and brought him out to the rocking chair, where he and I both dozed (ish for him, not at all for me) until six, when I thought it acceptable to get up and start the day like normal (HA!) people.

Last night, before we went to bed, Beard was gently dancing Baz down in the other room, so I lit my Autumn candle. I looked at it, placed my hands around its warmth and took a deep breath. I prepared to think about all the things I wanted to project for the season, the things I wanted to put away for the winter months that no longer served me, the projects I wanted to begin, the creative vein I wanted to dig into for the darker months. I didn't even get that far. As soon as I took the breath, in came the herrband with the baby. I hurriedly blew out the candle and as the wisp of smoke dissipated in the air, I took the baby into bed.

Such is life right now.
Everyone everywhere tells me to be grateful, to cherish these moments because at some point I will miss them. Someday far too soon, Bastian will be annoyed when I try to kiss him goodnight; long gone will be the days we curl around and into one another and feel safe and so deeply loved.
I know.
I know.
I know.
But there is something to be said for just being a damn person too.

Maybe I didn't get to write my wishes down on individual pieces of essential oil soaked paper and burn them in a bonfire while Beard romantically strums a lyre in the backyard.
Maybe I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because the baby was busy trying to communicate, in his best, non-verbal fashion, that his bones are growing, and his skin is stretching, and his fucking teeth hurts.
Maybe today, at the grocery store, I bought the pre-made pumpkin cookie dough that I can't eat* for my husband, and then I bought three reese's pumpkins that he can't eat*, and as I walked back to my house, the baby nodded to sleep on my chest in the carrier, and I hauled the groceries, and him, and myself home in a bedraggled mess.

*various dietary ailments. Hurray aging!

Here's the thing.
LIFE IS NEVER AS GOOD WHEN IT'S HAPPENING AS WE REMEMBER IT TO BE.
That's why we live in a "live in the moment" culture obsessed with instant nostalgia.
All those instagram filters and retro throwback bullshit things we do to "capture the essence of a feeling" are all because we want to escape how shitty the current moment is.
Ready to have your mind blown?
THE WHOLE REASON OUR PRIVILEGED CULTURE IS OBSESSED WITH AUTUMN IS BECAUSE IT IS AN ENTIRE SEASON DESIGNED AROUND CHILDHOOD MILESTONES WE MISS.

Pumpkin Spice Latte?
It should be marketed as "First do it yourself Halloween Costume" or "First Hayride with Your Crush" Flavor.
Apple Cider Donut Candle?
It might as well be New Backpack or Clean Locker scent because of how heavily we associate the back to school vibes with reinvention and the chance to prove that this year, this year will be different...

If we all experienced childhoods of hard labor with scarce food and long days spent farming or logging or whatever else our ancestors did to preserve our dna strain, we'd still look back on those times fondly. It's part of why we carry on. It's why we have children, to give them those memories and maybe relive our own in the process.

Anyway, this wasn't meant to degrade into a whole rail against why millenials dig Autumn like psychopaths rant, because boy do I dig the third season. Do I ever.

I just want to experience and remember that it is pain too. The whole reason for those beautiful leaves, those ripe pumpkins and sweet cornbread, bushels of apples, and jars of preserves is because this is the dying time. It's the northern hemisphere's beauty ritual before she goes to bed. Essentially all the trees losing their leaves is the world washing the dirt of the summer from its face.

The fires, the woodsmoke, the harvesting and hoarding, the slowing down, that's what I miss most right now, because all of it is so hard with a baby screaming, clawing, climbing, and flailing you away from sleep.

Still, there are moments to be treasured.
I am going to put this child in a pile of leaves the size on an elephant in about two weeks.
And yes, there will be pictures, so he can feel nostalgic for this time too someday.