Missing You

Hi, my happiness.

I'm missing you. We've started the introduction weeks at the local kinderkrippe and, although you'll eventually be going there two days a week, you've been there every day in some form or other for what feels like ages now. Yesterday you were there from 9 until 3, and by around 1pm I was itching, jumping from foot to foot, waiting for the clock to tick tick tick tick tick. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sitting at home doing nothing - I am doing all the things that you would normally hate, or that I just have not had the quiet time to be able to do. To read my friend's manuscript, to work on my own, to do grocery shopping for bigger things than I can normally carry whilst pushing a pram, to vacuum. My aim is to use the time when you are away to work on my book, but there are a few things that need to be ticked off my 14-month-long to-do list first.

I wrote about how I miss you, but I didn't share that with you. I think I should. Here is what I wrote:

It is so incredibly strange to be without my boy. I feel like an amputee with phantom limb pains. Every time I see a bus, I say "bus!" in my head in a very excited manner, knowing how his eyes would light up when he hears this, how his head would be frantically turning left and right in search of this treasure, how he'd giggle and say 'Bah?', looking to me for confirmation. The same goes for every single bird and every puppy that I see. And I didn't realise how many there were... Every time I see another little toddler, I imagine them and my bean looking at each other, talking to each other in their own special language, him giggling (he's always giggling!).

Birdies! Everywhere!
(and yes the water is so clear! And deep!)

Now though, I'm back in Horgen, just in case they call me and say he's beside himself. I can hear the church bells strike twelve times. It's nap time. There is something so magical about holding a tired little bubbaloo in my arms, his big blue eyes locking with mine, knowing that he is safe, that I am there, laying him in his bed and watching him turn to the side, cock his head back to that ever-uncomfortable-looking angle, placing my enormous hand on his back as his breathing slows, kissing his head and creeping out the door. And then, of course, popping back in five minutes later to stare at him for a moment, smile, and suck in the wonder.

I'm sitting on the banks of the lake right now, typing this out just before I head to Hotel Schwann to buy myself lunch by the fountain while I read my book (presuming I don't get a phone call saying that you won't sleep and I need to collect you!). The old paddle-steamer has just rolled up and given a long TOOOOT, which I know my boy would go nuts over. Perhaps, right now, he's dreaming of being a paddle-steamer captain and tooting that horn whenever he likes.

'...in your dream boat, down to Blanket Bay.'

I love you, my gorgeous boy. Goodness I love you. 

Love Mummy.