Lorenzo is nine months. Nine months seems like a good moment to start writing on his blog, there is a beautiful symmetry about it. Nine months ago he was born, nine months before that he started to exists.
I don't like symmetry, but it's too long that I want to write of us, and I welcome the excuse gladly.
We are quiet again after the granparents visits.
Granpa was shut in Lorenzo's room for a full weekend to renovate it the way I dreamt. He disassembled, drilled, reassembled, created. A beautiful montessori little room.
And now it's night, it's late. I look at his room.
Mixed feelings.
I am grateful, above all - because I could have my way, because of the skills and kindness of Lorenzo's granpa- and I am excited. For the new room, its beauty, the open possibilities. But the excitement is hesitant. It is not (only) the fear that Lorenzo might not like it. It's another fear, deeper. Lorenzo will have his room, his bed, his space. His independence - and all the means to start developing it that we, and I, so strongly wanted.
He won't be this ball of softness that wakes us up every morning in an over-crowded bed.
He will grow up. And we have to follow, too. But above all, we'll have to let him grow.
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