I found myself walking up the main street of Katoomba yesterday with Rocco. Who, every three steps, kept playing dead. Like a puppy.
The first seventeen times it was hilarious. Then I had to carry him. He was so cute, and little, and cuddly. I needed a photo right then in that moment because I felt so bloody happy. I asked a stranger to take one - he totally thought I was a tourist. Maybe I was.
A tourist of happy. I'm allowed to wear such footwear because it's FREEZING up here.
We came across a busker who was singing and playing the guitar. I asked Rocco, would he like to put some money in the hat? He's all, MONEY IN THE HAT MUM QUICK. I gave him $1.50. He ran past and threw those coins in the hat with such force that the other coins already in there flew out. Like lawn bowls. Then he just kept running. The busker - mid-song - stopped playing because he was laughing so hard.
My son makes buskers stop playing.
I called Rocco back, because I know how much he loves music. He jumped on his trike and sat there, in awe of the busker. He was singing "From Little Things, Big Things Grow" which is a protest rock song by Paul Kelly, about the land rights struggle of Indigenous Australians. It's a beautiful song with beautiful lyrics.
I looked at Rocco. How little he was, and how big he is growing now. In that moment, I realised three things.
1) He is turning three this week.
2) Dave's cancer diagnosis is turning three this week.
3) How completely crap it is that Daves cancer is so closely tied to Rocco's birth.
I text Dave: "Hey hon. Happy Tumour-versary!" And thought of how they grew so big, in his body cavity. From little to the size of grapefruits.
I forced myself to watch Rocco again; watch him just be in the world. Here's 29 seconds of him just being in the world.
I would have filmed longer, but he let go of the steering wheel and was reversing backwards as fast as he could go so I had to run and stop him. Otherwise he would have gone straight onto the road. Probably yelling at cars to get the hell out of his way.