And then there was Drew...

Why is it always November I feel compelled to write? The words have come back, sifting into my moments again, their poetry lulling me back to the page. I thought I abandoned you, blog. Left you cold. But now I have nowhere to put these sentences but here. So here I am.

Two months ago I had another baby. Baby Number Two. Baby Drew. It took months to find his name inside of me. I kept asking him, asking him to tell me. I didn't want a D name. I always thought it was perhaps part lazy/part tacky to name your children with the same letter. I swore I would never. But that was his name. He swore it to me up and down. Whispering always. Every other name felt like a croak in my throat.

And so his name is Drew and I am madly madly in love with him.

Dave said the greatest thing the other day, that he didn't know how to explain it, but he swore that Drew had a good heart. Perhaps you can see it in his little baby smile, he crunches up and his whole body squeeeeesssss.

It's true what they say about second babies: you just don't worry like the first one. I am relishing every single moment of his little babyness. It goes so fast. I know people say that and it's really annoying and I'm not saying that like 'fucking look or you're going to miss something'! I'm saying that like 'i'm desperately trying to remember every tiny thing so I don't forget every tiny thing about you, even though I know better.'

I birthed Drew like a fucking warrior. All natural. Me & him & god. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced. Absolutely mind-blowing. If I have another, I wouldn't have it any other way. To feel every part of that was humbling and empowering and I'm unbelievably proud.

I want another baby. I haven't told Dave this. I'm pretty sure he won't read this, especially when I forget to tell him that I picked up my blog again atleast until this post is buried. I knew right after having Drew. No question. This family needs One More. He would freak if he knew how absolutely my bones know this.

November in San Diego is so dark. I love to see the ocean in the fall, when she is left to her own cold, heavy heaving. When the summer has flitted away, the lightness of the tourists lifted. At night she labors like a sheet of lead rolling up and down the beach. I am thankful that I feel like sharing that.

The Land of Sand & Fog

We are wading through the sunlight in Del Mar, California. It is a typical Wednesday. But I am tired, feeling a little broken. Dave suggests we drive here, for a change. The beach stretches it's beige & powdery paint just 15 mins from the house.

After parking, we clip towards the panorama. You can feel that languid, cool vibe of streets stuck together with sidewalk stores--the kind that frequent towns butted up next to the ocean. I'm feeling glad we came here. Even if we're quiet.

We reach the green & then the cliffs &
there's the ocean.

Tears get caught up in the throat for no other reason other than
it's beautiful & i needed to see this.

We stand in the pink muted part of the scene as the sun fades down. Everyone is standing still & watching as the fog rolls its grey damp mass over the ocean.

When it finally envelops us--we close the eyes and feel the earth move.

In a silent powerful instance, the fog erases the sun & turns the scene damp and grey. The heart counts its blessings. Thank you god for the big, beautiful things that reminds us to get out of our own brains.

I set Dax free and he runs & runs, facefirst into the giant soggy landscape.  The mist cooling his teeth, stretched into a full joyous smile.

a somewhatwhere prayer

I've decided that we have not the money to dye my hair nor do I have the time to pluck the greys. In Minnesota my mother stands next to me in the bathroom, ruffles my hair, "Aren't you a little young to..." she trails off, leaving her question there.

I shrug out from under her hand, trying to duck the physical manifestation of Time Passing.

We are there to celebrate my sister, who has built and birthed another baby. She is a beautiful girl, tiny and quiet.

Here are our three children in a room. We clamor around them. I can't seem to get my head around the way life moves. Why doesn't everyone else seem so amazed? Yet, you must be thinking: Aren't these boring revelations? To sit around oohing at the stars, talking about infinity?

We vascillate between this lucidity and the slow sound of PJ Harvey's voice steady in the air, "Is that all there is? If that's all there is, my friends, then let's keep dancing. Let's break out the booze..."

We attend a wedding in my hometown of Fargo, North Dakota. We visit Dave's family in nearby Thief River Falls. His great-great-grandfather's homestead proudly marked "1904." Dave's father still owns the land and farms there, every season. The horizon just sits there, a cornflower blue sky floats silent & still atop the empty fields. What are we doing, running around like rats in the city?

The thought is full. For a moment. We drive back. Every choice we ever made bringing us back to what we've chosen.

I accept this dream we've built. Knowing it's ours. The dream of us. The dream of our family.

New babies & future babies we tightly love. The weddings and funerals that tick off Time for us. The grey hairs that grow. With life so full of gladness & sadness.

May all of our baggage be full of blessings. Amen.

Dax in front of his great-great-great grandfather's homestead in Thief River Falls, Minnesota

To David

On the occasion of your first Father's Day...

I didn't think to write you something until this morning when I woke up late and realized it was late and heard you downstairs feeding pears to our son. I laid there and listened to your

fatherly sounds

the ones of love, the ones

I love

the way you love us.

It is Sunday, the day of rest, the day that summer

floats like a breeze through the screen;

I feel the comfort in the light comforter as I lay listening

to the sounds of our house.

I rise then to meet you at the table, full of eggs and peppers and coffee, and we laugh

in that morning light like a family.

you tell me you've been up for hours and my heart wells with gratitude and guilt

'it's father's day,' i say, mouth full,

'shouldn't I be taking care of you?' 

It feels grown-up and heavy to make my husband feel special

for being The Greatest Dad to Our Son.

But isn't it large? The enomormity

of our newly acquired holiday and what it represents?

It bears the weight of our responsibility

to This One Little Soul.

----

As the text and calls reach you today, I struggle

with how to express to you how

You SOAR

David

babe

boo

How can I express to you how impressed I am?

I've known you for so long.

I've loved you for so long.

I've trusted you for so long.

Those arms are my shelter, your chest is my calm center.

But I didn't know you at all

Until Now

Now I see the father you are,

THE MAN YOU ARE,

and I see the man I want Dax to be.

How could I have known what how big my heart could get?

How could I possibly have known?

In this life

We are Light 

so airy and full of space, spacious hearts--

holding each other lightly, tightly, brightly.

My love

My love

It is your day--A Father's Day--A Daddy's Day--

I want to thank you for everything you are. 

Dax and Daddy, Buddies from Day One

Night Weaning, A Critical Mass

We wake.

nightafternightafternightafter

My eyes drag crescent-shaped shadows

beneath them--

the dark smudged proof that

I have an infant child.

We are So Sick of It.

In a way I never thought we would be--

rising to meet his cries

hourafterhourafterhour

Last night,

I got scared when

neither of us wanted to comfort him--

You curled fetal on the floor;

My body and breast felt resent as

I nursed him anyway.

I whined into the dark to your dark shadow on the floor,

"I don't want to act emotionally, I don't want to make decisions

out of exhaustion. It feels too cold."

We discussed again

letting him cry.

I fear the intangible. I fear his personality

hinges on our exceptional attentiveness thus far.

I fear ruining him. Scaring him. Scarring him.

I don't want to act without Sureness.

Do I want to let him wail it out? I don't know. (But not really.) But

What I do know is

I'm ready to stop nursing in the middle of the night

Like so sick of it I want to cry because I haven't had a good night sleep since October 4, 2010.

What I don't know is

How to get there.

Insert suggestions here.

We. Can't. Keep. On. Like. This.

As a new mother, I can tell you...

As a new mother, I can tell you...

I have reached the highest JOYS I have ever felt. These are folded into the small moments--like the way he shakes his hands into the air and sqeeeeeessssss.....these are the moments I feel my eyes light up like wildfire. I feel full and complete and whole. In these moments I can see forever and my blessings stacked up like Christmas.

As a new mother, I can tell you...

I have reached the lowest LOWS I have ever felt. Some days I feel so frustrated and sad and mostly, I want to be alone. I want nothing more than to curl up all day with nothing but my own thoughts and a book and a bath. There are moments when I want him to sleep because he hasn't slept all day and he's fussy and I'm tired and I think in frustrated anger 'can't i just get one friggin second?!' I've had moments of mom bitterness, which I swore I'd never do, where I think, 'Can't anyone else do this?! For God's sake, why does it always have to be ME?" In this selfishness, I am ashamed.

As a new mother, I can tell you...

My relationship has changed. We are trying (struggling) to maintain to maintain normalcy....back how it was....you know, in the decade of our togetherness before baby? We are trying to keep it there. Safe and sound. But I have to tell you, our relationship has irrevocably changed. For the better? Sometimes. For the worse? Sometimes. The biggest pain is how much I miss him. 

As a new mother I can tell you...

I wouldn't change this for the world. But I am struggling to re-define myself here. I can feel it. It is a slow stretch. It is Growing Up. It is Letting Go. Being a parent forces me to Look at Me. Who do I want Dax to be? Then I need to be that person myself. The responsibility has made me a better person. 

As a new mother I can tell you...

I have no idea what I am doing. AND I know EXACTLY what I am doing. 

As a new mother I can tell you...

It's raining outside. I love the world all damp and grey. I can hear the garbage truck bumble down the road. The baby is sleeping. All things are as they lay...

To Fargo, With Love

Time is passing so still now. It reminds me of my childhood, when the days just faded into each other. There were things to do, but nothing urgent.

I grew up in West Fargo, North Dakota. Lately, I've been thinking of my hometown a lot. I'm trying to remember what summer feels like there.

Summers were humid and the air buzzed with the sound of grasshopper and crickets. Trees, large green massive bushels, rustled in the sky. The air was warm, sometimes hot, but as the day trickled into dusk, I remember the most carefree moments in time--barefoot in the grass and the warm street--we moved through space like butterflies.

I remember the thickness of summer, how the clouds of mosquitos swirled over the grass. I remember the river, the color of mud, slowly moving under the train tracks. (The more daring of us jumped from bridge into river with a courageous yelp.) I remember the smell, that earth that dirt those thick knotty woods--a smell that reminds me of days that waft like wind through your hair.

I know this place lives in my bones, but I fear the place isn't mine anymore. I shutter my eyes so tight to feel it. I want to lay in the grass of my childhood home in the country. I want to sit alone underneath the falling branches of our weeping willow tree, that old poem. I want to look across the yard across the highway and see the straight line of the horizon. I used to try to guess how many miles away the horizon lay. The answer itself unreachable--every step toward the line of the horizon moved it one step equally away.

North Dakota is so flat you can see for miles, you can see where the wheat-colored plains hit that cauliflower blue sky. Everything is so still and quiet and understated. If Rothko painted in lighter colors, this would be his emotional landscape. Blocks of color. Farmland and sky. Silence and Thought.

I don't know what it means to be From Somewhere. I know I feel a kinship with people from the area. I know that they know what a tornado siren sounds like, what a basement smells like after a flood, and what the bulbous black silhouette of a watertower looks like at dawn. I know that lately I've been dreaming about old friends, people who make up the building blocks of my soul, people I haven't seen for the better part of a decade, people I may never see again. I know that these words fail my memories.

Fargo is not gone, it continues. But what I know of Fargo is gone. All that is left is these remnants--scraps of paper and old photographs. There is a tender grief.

I think about Dax. I think about this lush landscape that will provide the backdrop to his memories. What will it be like to grow up in San Diego? What scenes, what smells, what sounds will comfort him?

Life is so slow now. So many things are figured out; there is no yearning. I have married my greatest love. I have moved to the town we will raise our children; where we will grow old. I am living my greatest profession, as a mother to my son. Years ahead, these are the days we will be living.

In this space, I've rediscovered the way time passes without checking off days. Maybe this is why I've been thinking of my youth; the feel is so similar. I can feel the lucidity of moments during mundane things like rinsing off plates, dicing vegetables, and tucking in my baby. I notice the color of light and the coziness of a warm room.

Perhaps we are all going too fast to feel. Perhaps when we abandon expectation, we can truly experience the present. Perhaps I'm adult enough to know that each precious moment passes...And so the sadness goes...

I have minutes when I see this Southern California landscape as Dax might see it. The hills, the houses, the flowers, the sea, the sky. I look to the palm trees and the jutted cliffs. In the night I try to see like a child--the lights from the houses in the hills look like clusters of bright yellow stars. I see the beauty he will come to know as Where He's From. I don't pretend though to know how his young free mind will etch this land in his heart.

I don't know how to end this. I suppose there are never any endings. Only middles. In betweens. Until the nexts. And so we go, 

Into the air
with our soaked hearts
One thub away from feeling
Everything At Once. 

Just Because

My husband bought me flowers yesterday. Just because. Just because I watched the little guy while he was away for work. Just because it made me tired. Just because it made me weak. Just because he thinks I'm cute and just because he thinks I'm worth it.

I received them the day after I wrote that post. The one a couple posts down where I am peeling apart at the seams. The one where I am cycling through the low part of the bipolar extremes of momhood.

I am so grateful that the man that gave me flowers is the man that will be the role model for my little man. I am hoping my little man will look at my big man and learn How to Be a Man. Which includes such topics as: How To Treat a Woman. Or How to Express Your Love. Or How to Love, In General.

I hope from his father he will learn that A Man Should be Madly in Love with His Chosen One. And that he should tell her often. And telling her often in no way diminishes His Manhood. It only makes him stronger. More of a man. I hope he learns never to be afraid to say how he feels. There's power and courage in that.

I hope he learns how to be Tender. Kind. Gentle. Strong. I hope he learns how to cuddle. How to hug. How to giggle. Play. Joke. Jest.

I hope he learns How To Be Open. Vulnerable. How to Let Go. How to, most importantly, Be Himself. So He Can Be Free.

I hope he learns that compromise is key. That listening is paramount. That wanting the other person to be happy is sometimes bigger than the self. And that is The Secret. That IS Love in Action.

I hope he also learns when to Speak Your Mind. Say Your Peace. To Not Be Afraid to do so. I hope he can do so with the Belief that he will Be Heard. And that belief will give him The Power to Be Calm.

For all these things, I am grateful that Dave is his father. Because that alone gives him a leg up on These Important Things.

As a woman I am grateful that I see these things in my husband. That I chose these things. That I respect them in him. And I pray that I can foster the same Values, Principles, Integrity in my son that I adore in my husband.

I hope my son becomes the kind of man that buys flowers for his wife....

Just Because.

Into the Desert

So last week we went to Arizona. I used to live there. Before San Diego. I met my husband there. My father lives there. My stepfamily lives there. I graduated college there.

I lived a lot of life there. Twelve years. A decade plus two years.

I thought I didn't miss her, the chalky desert sun. But I do. My bare arms and bare legs and bare toes do. It felt divine to feel her warm hug again. You know how it feels like spring here? It feels like summer there. I am the type of girl who loves summer too.

We stayed with my Dad and my stepmom and stepbrother in Phoenix, and because they were such awesome babysitters, I felt kind of free and unhinged. Everyday I met with this friend or that. I had long lunches with Kasey and Adralyn and a crew of others and also one of my oldest besties Beth. This is her cuddling the little guy before we went out baby-free for the afternoon.

On St. Paddy's Day, my very Irish stepfam threw a nice little gathering in the backyard...

On Saturday, Dave & I went to the wedding we came for. Weddings are so lovely. I love them because they are kind of the party place for us 30 somethings. Because when you are in high school, you hide in corn fields and people's basements. When you are in college you go to house parties. Then you graduate naturally into bars. And then you all fall in love and the only place you meet to get wasted anymore is weddings.

So I love them. Because people feel goofy. And I love love too. I've always loved love, and weddings are all about that, so I love them too. Especially when you think the two getting married are great for each other because it makes me feel good about life. When they are not so good, I still don't care, because I still appreciate a decent party anyway.

I wish I would have taken a picture of my dress because I, errr....I mean the dress was smokin' hot. But I didn't. So here's a picture of me in my first pair of skinny jeans. The name of them are "Darcy" so I knew I should get them even though I'm kind of hippy in the hip area and have avoided them forever. Beth said to me, "Leave it up to you Darc, you get your first pair of skinny jeans AFTER you have a baby." And that made me feel good.

Anyways, the wedding was full of old friends. It was also at a castle and the bride is all Russian, so much so that the speeches were translated, and our friend the groom is half black and half white, so the mix of people was so fun and random. They even had a shot guy walking around with "Vodka or Hennessey?" Classic.

On Sunday, before we departed, Dave and I felt close and happy and relaxed. He put his hand on my leg in the dark and said with so much feeling that he was so blessed to have me and that it made him feel less alone. In the plane in the night we cuddled close and quiet, with my legs draping his lap, and with our baby sleeping in my arms. We looked into the navy night from our little round window and felt ok. Like love and the little things mattered. Our soft sighs drifted into the sky like goodnight prayers: Keep it light, God, keep it light.

You Make Me Feel So Good

There's an ingredient in Spring that makes me happy. Light. Airy. Alive.

I felt my being bursting at the seams today. The soul pushes like a smile against the skin. This Is Living. 

I love this town. This house. This yard. This sun. 

I don't believe anymore

that old band, those dreaded warriors, The Grateful Dead Who Said,

"When life looks like easy street, 

there is danger at your door."

INTERMISSION and 

You Spring,

You pop the top off my emotional bag of bones.

Let them breathe. Release their dark chill.

There's no need to be all crunched up and alone, 

I feel like running. l feel like living. I feel like pulling chairs up next to breezy lakes with cold beers and barbecues and shorts and smiles--mine and yours all mixed up in the laughter. The circle is a blur of teeth and words. Why did I ever spend so much time thinking?

I am a silhouette of skin; a flesh-colored palette of blushes and rouge; I am Just Matter. 

Spring you please me so...

In Between Dreams

Maybe it's now that the dust has cleared. The frantic pace of protecting a newborn baby, to usher it into heart-i-ness. Maybe it's the stillness of my days. Maybe I'm thinking too much.

But I feel weird. There is no greater abrupt change to your being than Birth. No. I spoke too soon. Death mirrors it. Death changes you too. Abruptly.  I've been too blessed to know great tragedy. But the light of birth changes you too. Abruptly.

Babies come like trains. You can hear its horn. See its light from months away. You kind of sit on the tracks, waiting. You cower under your arms. In the 9th month, your bulbous body feels the full-formed body under your skin. You know its coming...but what will the impact feel like? How long it will take to put back the pieces into a whole new whole? You vacillate between fear and exceptional joy.

Then, IT HITS. Labor. Birth. Light. Love.

It doesn't just 'start a whole new chapter.' No. It closes the book on that last life. Opens a brand new one. It's that different.

I feel kind of murky now. The old easy life is still fresh in the mind. But fading as memories do. The ego is re-defining, I can feel that. I'm learning to discard the old wants and desires. They are more habit than anything. Impractical. I can't stay up later, I have to get up...in the middle of the night....and in the early morning...I need my sleep...

I think that's where the weirdness lies: In between dreams. I'm riding inside the train now, but in the back caboose.  I'm reacting to my life in lag time. As the train barrels forward, I am feeling the need to change cars, to start stumbling towards the front of the train. I want a better view. I want to see where this is going, as opposed to where it's been.


Anyone else feel like this as their baby rounds the five month marker? Like they are coming out from under a rock, seeing the world with brand new eyes?

Oh the Places You Will Go

I was walking yesterday with Dax snug against my chest in the sling. We trekked the neighborhood on our way to the UPS store to ship cloth diapers to another crunchy mama on the East Coast. I felt empowered, each step sure and easy. Dax is quiet against me. His little legs dangling; his navy blue sunhat shielding his face from the light Southern California sun.

We zip past the full bushes of begonias. Blotches of hot pink blooms flash against the saturated green leaves. It's quiet. The sound of my feet tapping the pavement soothes him. He's sucking his pacifier. I wonder if I should have insisted he take it. He'd gone four months, why introduce it now? I brush it off. Because. Because he needs me so much. I relish the break.

The other day my mom asked me if I felt alone. With just me and Dax here. My husband working those long days. Yes. I thought. I think I do sometimes. Is being alone a bad thing? Aren't we all? All alone?

I wouldn't have this any other way. I wouldn't change things.

When Dave told me, all those years ago--we were 22 or 23 or something tender like that--he told me that he thought it's great for mothers to stay-at-home & raise their babies. He told me he wanted something like that too. He meant me. To raise our babies. I shot back, "You're with the wrong girl." 

I couldn't imagine a life like that. My identity wrapped up in this little being. I wanted no part of it. I had things to do. Fantastical dreams to wrestle to the ground.

I chased my career in my twenties. Into the ground. It lead me absolutely Nowhere. Disappointed and disheartened. I tried with everything to find What I Was Looking For. And the honest truth is, it wasn't there. The direction I was headed? I simply did not care.

I grew up. I worked anyway. I gave up that Need to Be. It was a relief.

And then it came time. Almost a decade after I scoffed at Dave in the passenger seat of my little pickup, I'm here--in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday with a baby strapped to my chest trekking through our peaceful suburban neighborhood.

I take a breath. Turn the corner and Know

This is exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Through Mommy Eyes

I see things through "mommy eyes" now. When Dax was first born, I was flooded with this new kind of love. They say 'it's indescribable,' and that seems like a cop out. But it's not. There are no words, only words that reflect that words are out of reach.

But that love gives me tremors sometimes. Babies are so tiny and helpless and perfect. In the beginning, I would get flashes of images of babies that were neglected, abandoned, shoved into trash cans. It would shock me, tears choked in my throat.

Obviously, I always felt anger and disgust towards any kind of willful neglect or tragedy directed towards children. But when mommyhood bloomed in me, that feeling ballooned into utter disbelief, rage, and extreme sadness. How could anyone hurt a baby--their own or others? Don't they feel what I feel? This all-encompassing adoration, this innate impulse to protect, to nurture and love them? A feeling so large it seeps into your being. Makes your heart bigger than the universe. Unable to stand even a whimper from your little one's mouth.

Who are these cruel, heartless abusers? I am racked with incomprehension. To think of it makes me want to tear my mind out of my head. I don't, on principle, believe in capital punishment, but I guarantee you no tears are shed when a child abuser/murderer gets tied to a chair and poisoned on the state's dime. Dear God, protect us... 

I also now see any murder as a mother losing somebody. If I turn on the news or read the news or see the news (none of which I try to do because it freaks me out), and the top story is death before their time, I can't help but think of that person's mother. What she must have felt. What exceptional sadness. What extraordinary grief. I can't take it.  A lump develops. Please, shut if off. I am feeling too much. 

Even parents estranged from their children, I think 'what's wrong with you? How could you?' You mustn't feel what I feel. If Dax forsook me as a part of his life, I would fight until my fingers bled to climb back into his world.

Mommy eyes are bloodshot with empathy. Love so intense it feels like pain. The higher your joy, the deeper your sadness: Nothing has highlighted this dichotomy to me like motherhood. I pray that the peaks and the valleys always

 Keep us safe. 

And well. 

And loved.  

The State of Our Union

It is dark in the house early now.  We are so tired, exhausted. I barely have enough energy to tell you things anymore, parts of my day, share pieces of memory. I don't want to talk. I want to sleep.

I take a bath, and I can hear you in the other room cooing at our son. I know he must be looking up at you, eyes squinted in delight. I smile to myself, count my blessings.

I want to detach though. I want to roll into myself, think my own thoughts. I don't know why, but I can't.  My thoughts are wrapped up in that wobbly bundle of ours. I'm always analyzing, how to make things better. I pick up a book. It's about babies. I chide myself for my lack of interest in fiction anymore. I used to find such solace there. But I can't bring myself to read my unread paperback.

I know you're tired too. Those long days when you leave the house before dawn to work, when you wake up in the night to trudge into your car and drive through the dark and the hills. When you return home through the dark and the hills, the headlights like an unbroken necklace of twinkle lights on the highway. And when you arrive to the yellow warmth of our home, you must see that look in my eye, the one that says, "I've had a long day, would you take him?"

But you're so kind and good, because you don't complain or sigh; you just peel off your coat deliberately and then you pick him up and oogle him. And so I breathe.

I love you for that.

We've gotten into more of a rhythm. Those itsy-bitsy newborn hours are over. The blur of days and nights in wake-sleep-wake-sleep-wake. The spurts of adrenaline that pushed us through those first weeks. The nights where I didn't sleep and just listened, begging the still white moon hanging in the window for the sound of my baby's breath. The nightmare thoughts of losing baby, pulling him into bed between us just to be closer to him. I felt like a bear protecting her cub.

I don't feel like that anymore. Dax feels strong and hearty. In the wee hours of the night when everything is hushed and tired, we hear him wake and squirm and fuss. You get out of bed and go to him, arms like oak pulling him from his bed to comfort him. I hear you pat his back as you bring him to me, lay his little body next to me. You turn his head towards me, showing him where the food is. It is your gift to him. Your guidance.

And then you might say you love me as you shuffle back to your side of the bed. You might lay your hand on my hip in the dark as our baby nurses. When he's sleeping and snoring and breathing soft and languid you take him back slowly. I love your gentleness. I love you.

It is this rhythm that moves us through the weeks. A true team. As we've never been before. And when I'm too tired you let me lean on you and I do the same for you. And so it goes...

I miss you though. I do. I miss the just you and me. I don't want it back. No. I get it: things have changed. Irrevocably. Un-change-back-able. We are new. Different. Beloved. Better even. Revolving around a new planet. Bigger than us. The sum of us.

But I'm just saying, sometimes in the night I want us to be just alone again. So I can curl my body into yours at will--without worry or ears perked, without body and mind pitched towards our baby. I want to breath you completely again. Focus with my whole heart.

These are juvenile thoughts. Useless, I know. But just know that I think of you always. The state of our union is stronger now, even though we seem to be circling in separate orbits, we revolve around our son. But baby, I love you with everything. You're my universe.        

On Being a Parent

Time Has Sped Up.

Time Is Slipping Away.

I want to run through the meadow of my memories and capture all the pictures...

those Flitting Fireflies of Thought and Color.

I want to bottle them up and put them on my counter so I can Look at Them.

I want to remember The Past, because He Is In It.

Every day he gets bigger and becomes Something Else Altogether,

and it Explodes My Heart.

Each day his laugh gets HEART-i-er.

Each day his eyes get CLEAR-er.

Each day his kicks get STRONG-er.

He's so young, but already I feel like his newness;

his itty-bittiness

are behind us.

I am going to be a Sad Mom.

because already,

I miss Every Dax That Ever Was.

I need videos and photos and letters so i can sit,

old and tired,

on the floor and Look At Him

againandagainandagainandagain.

I know you're right there, Right Now,

but STILL

(sit still please be still please always be still)

How am I going to do this?

How am I going to let go you go every day?

I look forward to all the Future Yous

but Dear God Please

Leave me my memories.

Let them lay vivid and perfect and

priceless in my mind.

It's going so fast. It goes SO Fast.

I want to

Hold On....

I love you i love you i love you i love you

The Honeymoon's Over

The families have departed. They have come. I have gone. To them too. And now. I'm left with long days that stretch out before me. We don't live near relatives. No grandmothers take our babies on the weekends. No cousin's birthdays to attend. Not yet. And so. We are alone.

Together? Sure. Happy? Absolutely. Lonely? Sometimes...

In Minnesota, I watched my niece Nova shove her fingers in my baby's mouth. Kiss his cheek. Pat his belly. Little Dax and his little cousin--they saw each other. Faces like brand new presents. Curious. Acknowledgement. You'll be in my life forever...

I ache for what they'll miss. The everyday. The seamless weekends. Where mom and mom and nana and uncle and us we get together for goshknowswhat. Those babies will run at our feet. No big thing. This dream may never be... 

And now I have behind me. All the excitement of pregnancy & birth & new baby & who sees who when & Christmas & presents & planes. It is done. The thank you cards are stamped. Sealed. Sent.

Before me I have my itty bitty family and our endless numbered days. It is real. And it is right. But a realization none the less.

I try to live in The Now.

But I drift. I dream about the growing baby in my arms. The growing family in our future. The growing need to believe our extended family will follow us here like ducks. South for the winter. But then they stay. Stay.

Cousins: Nova & Dax

Dax & Nana Kay 

Outside, A California Winter in Technicolor

In California, even though we are knee-deep in December, the world looks like Fall. It still feels like winter though.  The air is snippy, brisk.

Me & Dax & the cats go outside into the yard to see the golden cover of leaves...

In every frame there's an abstract picture,

or a colorful poem...

Diego, our little kitten-cat-panther-lion, follows me everywhere...

 (kitten)

 (cat)

 (panther)

 (lion)

It's so quiet outside. The absence of sound reminds me of loneliness...

Although I'm not alone...

We notice all the pretty things together...

and head back inside.

I stare at you again.  

And again...

You're so darn cute...

How'd  you get to be mine?

In this house together now. It's a brand new winter. Sparkling yellow and gold. 

We play on the floor of the nursery. We are looking from the inside-out.

(love taking photos?...click below...)

Right as Rain

It's raining outside. The palm tree juts out in jagged lines. A spiky black silhouette against the grey sky. The white curtains glow with light in front of the window in the nursery as we rock gently. His navy blue eyes watch the shiver of the trees outside. His eyes, still and open. As we rock. Back and forth.

'I love you,' I think. His little body like a magnet to mine. My breath sets the pace for his breath. I must calm down to get him down. I'm learning patience. I listen to the cars in the street turn the corner in front of our house, their splash coats the curb. Like a short breath. And. Breathe.

I have nothing to do but love you. Every day. Just that thought alone makes my throat well up. My eyes choke back tears. Thank you God. Oh My God, Thank You.

I see my world, my house, my thoughts...through your eyes now. Everything is new. Everything is in place. Everything is safe and planned. And lovely.

I feel at home. For the first time in years, everything makes perfect sense.

This Is Home.

This Little Light of Mine

Getting ready to fly to Minnesota tomorrow. I am going to visit my mom and sister and niece, and they are throwing me a baby shower! Hurray! I have lots of family and friends up there in the Minneapolis/Fargo area so should be fun.

In the midst of my packing, I've tried on nearly every single outfit in my closet that has the chance of fitting. I found some long-lost gems I forgot about that suit my maternity look well. But more often than not, I found my choices dwindled further. On a positive note, I bought super cute capris today that were too expensive, but that I will probably wear everyday until I give birth.

---------------------------------
On a totally different note,

I'm feeling lately extra sensitive about the people in my life and the struggles of the daily grind.
I'll leave with a mini-poem...

The world is on its axis right now
tipping over
spilling guts out.
You and them and him and her
are all struggling
with the weight of its insides
crushing
souls down.
i see the earth bearing down
and the bodies in pieces
the population wide-mouthed and
pleading.
i want to relieve you
All. 
What needs to be done here God
so we may lay 
our burdens down?


Can't you see our little lights,
struggling to get air? 

Snippets of Things to Say

I was hugging the curves around Bancroft Street today when I saw a playground to my right. In my mind's eye, a giant brown unicorn lounged in the yard. It was a tangled branch. Still, I wasn't disappointed.

At the wedding last weekend in Jerome, AZ, we all cuddled inside the garden. We talked about large things like love and eternity. The fountain was too loud sometimes, I couldn't hear the words that slipped from our lips, but I knew them anyway. We were all trying to find forever here. We believe.

In our little flat above the Flat Iron Cafe, you and me, we could see the red and pink cliffs in the distance. How cute are these stores in Jerome, lined up like brightly colored antiques? We fumble up the town's stairs hand in hand. I feel so petite and pretty and protected by you...seven months pregnant...your little lady...I feel safe...and slightly owned by you. How primal are we...

Cupid-sized boxes keep arriving in the mail for our little one. Yesterday, I opened a board book and got teary-eyed. "This is for our son," I thought, as the image of him poured into my heart. I ached for his presence just then. These not-yet memories thrill me.

My brother is filling his space here. I am pleasantly pleasant. I've missed him. The cakes he's making help. Like a lot.