Today marks the beginnings of the lasts - our last Thursday, the last weekend, last visits, last night in our own bed (oh, how I will miss you, bed!). I think it only hit me this morning that we're rolling out of here in a week. As in, moving. Permanently (for now. You never really know how long you'll go somewhere now do you?).
It'd likely be a much harder week without Chou. Having a child under foot means constantly having the play button on. There is no slowing down time; they are living, breathing, growing constant reminders of time's march forward.
Case in point: The Chou was fitted for her official first shoes yesterday. They're beautiful, adorable and bloody expensive. But watching her march around like the Minister for Silly Walks was worth every penny. She also had her first haircut yesterday. That unruly womb-hair was officially hanging in her mouth and getting plastered in her snotty nose. Not cool.
She's also blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding around her. While she may notice mum and dad are a tad more on edge, to her every playdate is just a playdate. There is no nostalgia or bitter sweetness to visits and final hugs. She won't even remember ever being here. Ah, to be that clueless.
But I know it's all winding down. I know these our the first of our lasts. And I'm sad to leave my friends and all that is familiar. I'm nervous about packing for what could be a three-month stint without access to all our possessions. I'm worried about how Chou will sleep in a playpen for that long (I think we've already decided it's worth buying another crib or paying for access to our storage to solve this one).
On the side of the good, I'm excited about our new adventure. Coming here, I knew I'd make friends, and now I'm awed and humbled by the depth of the relationships we've made. I get to do that again. Then I wonder about the house we'll find, and that's exciting. And I'll be back on the Prairies. I miss the Prairies.
This is good.