July was often too hot for anything more than a diaper. It was filled with perfectly sweaty baby hair that curls at the bottom when wet. It was an ice cream for dinner kind of month. There was an attempt at a first beach trip that lasted only an hour thanks to the flying sand, blowing hats, and an aggressively rising tide that gobbled up the sand too quickly for our liking. It was a beach babe of a different kind, one who desperately clung to his mom for rescue, unsure of that expansive big blue thing that nipped at his piggy toes.
July was new little ears discovering the sound of summer rain and new eyes darting towards momma’s to gauge her reaction to its tick tick tick on the window. It is glistening pavement and the smell of the earth and a welcome breeze into a muggy house. It’s a stroller doing double time as it rushes towards home base, racing against the mean and impatient clouds looming overhead. It’s the sound of a baby boy squealing with delight at the increase of the speed of his carriage.
July was for daytime dates in the North End. It was for precious adult time, a reminder of a life that was not so long ago filled with much less planning, less responsibility, less stress, but just less. It was a leisurely walk across the Velcro Bridge and a slowed pace to appreciate the anis wafting from the bakery’s vents. There were three glasses of wine and two desserts and it was an important reminder about love and a new family’s foundation.
July brought on a first fever, flushed cheeks, luke warm baths, child sized whimpers and adult sized heart ache. It made for two helpless parents whispering should we’s and do you thinks and what do we do nows. There was gratitude for moms and sisters’ reassurance that can come only from mothering experience that we newbies just don’t have yet. And when a sick baby forgot he didn’t feel well and laughed, there was relief and deep gratitude that this too shall pass.