what I want to remember
about these first seven weeks in fall
we spent as a family
from dawn to dusk and all night long
in the infamous year 2020
are the long walks we took along the river
or through the forest
or to the nearby café Mathilde.
our mornings with cuddles and kisses between the sheets,
sitting around a lavish breakfast table,
dancing to Pretty Woman, just daughter and dad.
our singing sessions with real nursery rhymes
in English and German and Dutch
or with invented phrases and stanzas and melodies.
all the laundry we did
with all your tiny little cloth nappies,
and the perpetually full drying rack in the bathroom,
and all the folding sessions on our bed.
you first smiles and giggles and grunts.
all the family members and friends
that came to visit and witness
just how cute you are
and how comfy our attic nest feels
and how eagerly we talk about our experiences
especially with rain knocking on all the windows
and tea being served for all.
your aunts and grandparents in old roles
and your aunts and grandparents in new roles
marvelling at you,
holding you close,
loving you lots.
all the cards and gifts and phone calls and messages and prayers.
all the times we cried
because of hormones
and not being able to believe
just how lucky we are.
all the times we fell in love
with you and each other
over and over again.
and I want to remember
that I missed work and my colleagues every day.
that our apartment grew too small by the minute.
that life around us seemed to move faster than we did.
that COVID was a reality, still and always.
that the US campaign was well underway.
that Belarusian people were bravely fighting for freedom.
that Brexit was still being negotiated.
that the youth was trying to save our planet.
that so much was happening everywhere and all the time
and that every day,
I took time and consciousness
to savour the moments with you,
because out of seven weeks grow seven years
and all of the sudden,
you will be gone,
adventuring through the world
But for now,
and until then,
it’s family time.