High Five

Technically this post is a month late. But I took the lead from the main protagonist. Manana, Manana. And you know, there was the aftermath of recent events to focus on. But here we are, our eldest is five. RD is no longer a preschooler, and yet in so many ways he’s not left the baby room. It’s one of those ages, five. An age to signal endings and beginnings. And that still applies. Plus, he’s about as communicative about his school days as most five year olds really.

I don’t know what or where I thought we’d be when RD turned five. There were times that I’d have clung onto something more mainstream, and times where I’d have pictured no progress at all and quietly shed some tears. There were definitely times that just making it to five seemed impossible. I say that, but I’ve always believed in a future for him. Careful not to project too far but my instinct believes, and that’s enough.

My little boy has unfurled. He knows his mission, and is determined. That is to find all the brightly coloured plastic, noisy, light up toys and make them his. And so he’s reaching, scooting, pulling up, bending down. Defying his diminutive muscle tone and geriatric energy levels. 

  
He’s loud. He’s got a voice of sorts. He loves to hum the theme tune. We’re just not sure what it is. He likes to tell us “GEGGEGgegGEG” in his biggest voice. And sometimes he knows to say “Mumumumum” just for me. He can communicate his main wants: a new toy please peasant, or a drink Jeeves. There’s still a grey area where there’s some joint shouting as things don’t translate, but those moments feel more like background noise now.

His eyesight seems more mature. Not as closed in to the length of his elbow. He can spot things across a room and make his way there. He seems to remember where his favourite things are. A drawer, a box, which room. He will make it his daily mission to scuttle and roll into the ‘good room’ (proper northerners us), where he can bury his face in and caress his beloved blue velvet footstool. I’m so glad I’ve instilled in him a passion for soft furnishings. He makes mini dark dens around his face and plays with lights and lenses. And he watches us. Not always, but he follows who comes and goes. Looks to us for a cuddle or a tickle. We’ve got until his teenage years right? In RD years, not unlike dog years, we’ve got some time.

Whatever I imagined, I wish I could bottle where we actually are. Where RD actually is. We’re still on the cusp, and each hospital appointment carries the weight of where his bloods are now. His kidney function is in his boots, and at a baby size 4, we just don’t know when our luck will change and the next stage will start. At 11% function most of us would struggle to turn the pillow over. But not RD. All we hope is he continues to use whatever magic has brought him to be five.

  

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