Ives and I spent so much of this summer in our front porch. Almost every morning we were there. In the first warm months, I would nurse him while I read the newspaper and then my book. I read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek in June. He would fall asleep easy and often. It was quiet. And I found ways to tuck him into my lap so I could use both arms to read and eat. Now, he sits in his highchair while I make us both breakfast in the kitchen. It is busier. It is louder. He mostly eats what I eat now. When I boil myself a soft boiled egg, I leave one to boil longer for him to eat. He eats only the yoke, grabbing fistfuls. There are yellow crumbs all over his face. I turn the radio on and he darts his head about looking for the source of the sound. I make us each a piece of toast. I put jam on mine. Half of his ends up on the floor. We move to the porch and talk while we eat. He is less restless in the porch. He is distracted by birds and cars and neighbors. I watch him. He looks so much like his dad to me. He makes pleasure sounds when he eats pieces of banana and watermelon. People smile at us as they pass on the sidewalk. Sometimes I miss the easy early summer. But then he stuffs a piece of grape in his mouth and looks at me with a shocked sort of gladness, urgently reaching out his grubby fingers for more - and I don’t. I am excited for fall, to wear our sweaters in the porch and let him crawl through the leaves I rake up. I am thankful for the seasons - that they will aid me in remembering his first year: the cold and cozy beginning, the first quiet warmth, the busy hot summer.
After breakfast, he needs a bath. There is avocado in his eyelashes and berry juice in his diaper. After his bath he is so cheerful and we play. He climbs everywhere. In the porch, his highchair is covered in mess and there is a three foot radius of toast and sweet potato crumbs that I probably wont sweep up until he naps.
writing for Kinfolk:
photos of us, by Megan
Medium Format Kiev 60 TTL / TMax 400 film