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Felix is Three Years Old!

August 11, 2015 by Yolande 1 Comment

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Felix.  The name means “happy, joyful, lucky, successful”.  We really didn’t have a name in mind when he tumbled out onto the bed, after a speedy, ecstatic party of a birth.  I remember being stunned by his exquisite beauty.  Those eyes, that plummy mouth, his delicate little nose.  We all adored him right from the very beginning; before the beginning; forever.

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For the past several months, Felix has been proudly telling everyone he meets, with fingers outstretched, “I am two years old!  Next birthday, I’ll be three!”.  Several times a day, he asserts, often out of the blue, that “I’m big.  Mum, I’m really big you know”.  Yes you are sweetheart.  You’re big and little, and you’ll always be my sweet little baby.

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This whole seeing one’s children grow up is a tough one.  Since, oh, last Christmas, Felix has been talking about wanting a chocolate-chip cake, with candy canes, and ice-cream for his birthday, and to go to Evandale.  I did make an honest effort to find organic candy canes in August, but to no avail.  So I did break down and buy fruit-juice lollipops, and I made a grain-free chocolate chip cake, and we had goat’s milk ice cream.  The truth is, my kids have such limited encounters with ice cream, that the goat’s milk variety doesn’t yet register as “different”.  I have another couple of years of that, perhaps.

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Felix received some new books, new pencil crayons and a paint set, a lovely baseball mitt and baseball from Gramy and Grampy, and a new owl backpack with a soft blanket that folds up into a little soft suitcase (or pillow).  We will be travelling to Vancouver soon, and Felix, of all the kids, likes to stay home.  Even on overnight trips lately, he will, when overtired, burst into tears and demand to be returned home immediately.  He exudes sweetness, goodness, kindness.  He is concerned about others, and gentle with the animals.  He’s wonderful.

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After we had cake and presents at home, we drove down the road to the Evandale resort, which is, after the Queenstown wharf across the street from our house, our second-favourite place to swim.  Maybe he was feeling the weight of his years, but Felix was somewhat more pensive and quiet than usual.  Time flows, but the meaning we place on its passage is the meat of it.  I watched him, watching the other children splashing in the pool, and I tried to sear the image of his beauty into my mind.  Please please please let me keep at least my memory of this little one, like this, in his golden little-boy loveliness, forever.  Not to be.  Instead, I have this one perfect present moment.  Felix.

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Comments

  1. Angus McMullen says

    August 13, 2015 at 6:01 pm

    All you write about the fleeting nature of our completely fragmentary association with our children is true. Try as you might, love them as hard as you can, you cannot hold onto your children. The saddest and most promising aspect of all this is that your children and theirs will feel all this as our parents and grandparents did. You have to assume that your heart will only mature fully when it is irreparably broken. Never accept any estrangement of love, but constantly strive to keep your heart as open as the sky and never lose an opportunity to tell them that you love them. Roll their eyes however they may, they will thank you in later years.

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I work with smart, independent women who are sick of feeling disempowered by the myth that childbirth is a medical event from which we need to be delivered. I help mothers navigate the process of planning and manifesting their freebirth without fear. I'm also a writer and a ceramic artist. Feel free to get in touch with me at sasamat(dot)clark(at)gmail(dot)com.

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