They say we're raising revolutionaries. The children that go hard, play hard, love hard and never stop - not even for a breath - but just push on, leaving their mothers breathless and exhausted in their wake. I remember the day we started our first playgroup, you were 9 months old, a month older than your little sister now, and all the little squishy babes were crawling around playing, interacting, gooing and gahing. A little boy approached and grabbed the toy you were playing with, you immediately took it back, giving him a warning stare and then turned smiling and got back to your baby games. All the mamas were shocked - and amused - and I just laughed because I knew in that moment I would have so many things to worry about in the future, but you backing down would not be one. I've never met one with so much fire, you grew in my belly under the red sky of the Outback and then came into this world like a wild bansee - not shedding a tear - with a head full of ginger locks and a cheeky smile embedded in your bright blue eyes. Lately with another chapter of change in our midst and, like little ones tend to do, you are acting out and leaving my bones aching with tiredness at the end of the day. I try breathing, ignoring, taking a time out but you smell my coping techniques from a mile away and push, push, push with a twinkle and leaving us both with our heads spinning as to how a couple of minutes ago we were cuddling and laughing and now ... well, we aren't. A new home awaits, a new adventure is in the works and both will allow us space to grow, areas to retreat to and hopefully there we will shift out of this groove and find our peace.
Until then I breathe (and hope with arms open for the hugs of the mischievous :))
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