A Bungalow Retreat

It is eleven am on Saturday morning. I am sat propped up in bed, The Janitor beside me reading, curtains and window open, listening to the sound of birds and passers by. The sun beaming in through the window, reflecting off the plant that resides in the corner of the room.

This morning is the first morning in over fifteen months that we wake alone in The Bungalow, no six am chatter coming from the next room, no milk feeds or bed crasher, bleary eyes or indoor bike riding.

Our boy left the nest of The Bungalow and our loving arms, venturing with bags packed for an adventure at the Grandparents yesterday. Excited for us all, the fun to be had, each kinship getting stronger as we all spend the time building our relationships in different ways.
A little apprehensive, I dreamt of him all night, stirring and waking throughout.
At nine am, The Janitor pressing for me to call and find out how he is, how he slept...
I held off, wanting to savour the moment, letting Evan be, the unknown making me somewhat nervous. At ten am, I caved, and as we knew he would be, he slept with no problem, woke at the usual hour and was exploring his surroundings with all the wonderment he always has.

Fifteen months with no real time to ourselves, last night and this morning reaffirming how important it is to make that time. As we lay here side by side, looking back on how different our lives are to only three years ago, we are sure we wouldn't do a thing differently.
A pat on the back, so far we haven't done too badly as first time parents.
It is nearly time to stretch our lazy bodies and rise from the comfort of our retreat, to collect our little boy and begin a new day, revitalised and looking forward even more, to our night away next month...