7/52 The baker
A portrait of my son, once a week, every week, for the 3rd year of his life.
Anakin: Waiting for the bread to rise. We baked chiabatta for the first time one morning. You sampled a bit of flour which made you pull a funny face. A first experience. Perhaps there’s fewer of those left than we think. The firsts and the lasts. We take so much joy in the firsts, but the lasts somehow slip our grips as we’re too preoccupied with moving on. Today might have had a last without me even knowing it. There are some lasts I dread, some I hope never come. The last time I get to hold you tight in my hand as we cross the street or you say ‘sit in your arms’, or the last time we do our special good night games. The last time you say ‘I love you NOW’ and I reply with ‘I love you ALL THE TIME’.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll spend trying to see just what’s there instead of looking towards what might come after.