for present comfort and for future good
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estdeus_innobisFriday, June 1
Day 1461
The garden behind the Whitechapel
I think that today I will stay in the garden. The sun is shining, and I can sit on the chaise longue with my shoes off and my feet up, and I have all of the books that I need with me - and the notebook for my project with Alice, too. I shall have to speak with her about that when she returns from work.
Luc doesn't seem to mind staying at home as long as he can still run about. He has decided that he must pick one of every kind of plant and flower to bring to me, and he has lined them all up in a neat row along the edge of my chair. Why? I have already learned not to ask, even though Luc would happily tell me at great length, just as he tells me long chattering stories about every one of the flowers. My son's logic obeys its own rules, and they are rules that even we who are closest to him cannot understand.
Reason or no, logic or no, it still makes me smile to see his small face screwed up in serious thought - so like his father's expression in the same mood! - as he sorts out his plants.
A sharp kick breaks my reverie, and I press my hand down, rubbing at the spot where the kick landed. Not much longer, I think, as I shift on the chair to try to find a more comfortable position. The huge swell of my belly has dropped lower in the last few days, and something feels different. No, not much longer at all. Soon there will be another little one playing in our garden.
[Open to anyone who wants to play in the garden]
Day 1461
The garden behind the Whitechapel
I think that today I will stay in the garden. The sun is shining, and I can sit on the chaise longue with my shoes off and my feet up, and I have all of the books that I need with me - and the notebook for my project with Alice, too. I shall have to speak with her about that when she returns from work.
Luc doesn't seem to mind staying at home as long as he can still run about. He has decided that he must pick one of every kind of plant and flower to bring to me, and he has lined them all up in a neat row along the edge of my chair. Why? I have already learned not to ask, even though Luc would happily tell me at great length, just as he tells me long chattering stories about every one of the flowers. My son's logic obeys its own rules, and they are rules that even we who are closest to him cannot understand.
Reason or no, logic or no, it still makes me smile to see his small face screwed up in serious thought - so like his father's expression in the same mood! - as he sorts out his plants.
A sharp kick breaks my reverie, and I press my hand down, rubbing at the spot where the kick landed. Not much longer, I think, as I shift on the chair to try to find a more comfortable position. The huge swell of my belly has dropped lower in the last few days, and something feels different. No, not much longer at all. Soon there will be another little one playing in our garden.
[Open to anyone who wants to play in the garden]
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