It is crazy hot here. We’re not talking hot for November. The little weather report on my homepage says it’s 86, but I’m guessing it’s more like 90. Baby Genius is in a shorts romper–the only one we left out when we gave away the rest of his nearly outgrown summer clothes. We are running the air conditioner. This is what we in Northern California call earthquake weather. Much of the day has been still, but occasionally these hot gusts of wind tear more leaves from the vineyards and maples and liquid ambers, creating these fiery whirlwinds of leaves.
The girl at the bakery gave me a cold. It caught me yesterday, and I counted back four days to the day we took a family walk and wound up at the bakery where I ordered chai and J had coffee. It was a cooler day, and we stood outside drinking our warm beverages as the sun sank lower in the trees. BG signed that he was hungry, so I went back inside and bought a mini sourdough round. The bakery girl sniffled as she threw the bread in the slicer, and I remember hoping she had recently washed her hands. Now I think she probably hadn’t.
My boy just awakened early from his nap asking to nurse. He is lying across me, nursing and dozing as I type. His hair is long enough on top and in back that it curls a bit when he sweats. He still looks like a baby when he sleeps like this, and I soak every ounce of him up knowing that soon I will catch fewer and fewer glimpses of my baby as he throws himself full force into boyhood.