Same Couch, Different Year

I sat in the same spot I had the year before to write my essay, on a brown cloth couch in an old church that had been renovated into an Airbnb. We were back for another Colorado summer, just like last year when we picked up a thru-hiker, sifted through thrift shops, and hiked over Monarch Pass.

That was the hike where we carried a 1.5 year old and 3.5 year old in backpacks, walking a single-track trail. The hike I chatted with my sister-in-law about if they would start a family soon and if we’d have a third. Both of us unsure or skirting the truth.

And now this year, I’m skipping the hike because the reality is I'm feeling the elevated heat and heart rate at thirty weeks pregnant (despite wanting to believe I can do anything) and the exposed trail and 12,000 feet elevation aren’t ideal for my sweet newborn nephew.

This year it’s all different.

Now we have a 2.5 year old who found the borrowed tub of Vaseline and smeared it across the Airbnb walls. The same child who I asked to stop sliding the pocket door open and closed looked at me with a tilted head and said, “Okay, Mommy. Now look the other way.”

Now we have a 4.5 year old who ditched her Strider bike and instead flies around the pump track on her two-wheeler. With legs too long for the hiking backpack she now sports purple tennis shoes and yells “on your left” as she sprints down the trail.

And now we have baby Will, who only cries when no one is around, who smells like Dreft and breastmilk, and who is adored by his “big and big big cousin.

What a difference a year makes.

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