I looked this morning at my 2011 retrospective. So much happened that year – big, tumultuous, never-the-same-again life events – that I could hardly fit it all in one post. But 2012 hasn’t been the same: mostly just the growing of a boy, and our normal lives, and a lot of thinking and writing. As it stands, one of our most intense moments has been just now, when Timothy bet me a bottle of Coke that I couldn’t keep nine marmite-coated Twiglets in my mouth simultaneously (I WON, SUCKAS).
In some ways it’s been quieter. In a lot of ways it’s been louder. I have loved it.
Indulge me, then. This year we:
ate our Shrove Tuesday pancakes with fire-engine lipstick;
celebrated six months of boy;
fell in love with New York sidewalks and Florida sand;
paid homage to the original Henricus Rex and his adventure playground;
wished Shakespeare a happy birthday;
watched as Henry crawled, and then walked, then broke all of our things;
completely lost our heads at the Hay Festival;
captained a narrowboat down an Oxfordshire canal;
met Jasper Fforde, and showered him with raisins;
totally fell in love with the Olympics;
held a first birthday party;
camped the heck out of Dorset, and loved every minute;
gaped at Winchester Cathedral;
and introduced Henry to Sprucey the two-headed Christmas tree.
In between, I wrote about big things and small: resolutions, and the problem of chipping a Facebook-shaped hole out of my heart. Anniversaries and wedding wistfulness. Finding things holy, and facing outwards. Choosing my work. I formulated the drawbridge theory, the Sunday night breath, and the blog-browser’s call to arms. I wrote about the terrifying rubbishness of making adult friends. I wrestled with babies and body image (more than once), and wrote sincere love letters to food. I communed with my inner polar bear mother, cleaned off my parenting slate, found my reset button, and took my boy out of the box I’d made for him. I got very, very cross about bookshops. I realised that writing things down was the best possible way of clearing my head, and I worked out where I stood on all sorts of things. I was comfortable with my opinions, and felt like I became more of myself.
(I did some actual work too, in case you were wondering.)
Appropriately, in a year that started with a celebration in the cheese aisle, we’re finishing it off with a cheese-themed New Year’s Eve party. I hope to be kissed at midnight and consume an entire slab of Wensleydale. And if that’s the case then, 2013, you have my full attention.