Saturday, May 5, 2012

Blessings 251 to 253.

251. The return of warmth
252. A lost thing found
253. The quiet of the fountains in the courtyard

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Straining to Remember

Yesterday my little one turned five months old. He is, of course, the sweetest creature that ever breathed. (Not always, I admit. At 3 a.m. when he wakes up hot and hungry in the dark and wails loudly enough to bring the rafters down on our mattress, I pine for the the childless days.)

Five months. Such a short span. But already my arms have forgotten what it felt like to have nothing to hold. My brain has forgotten the feeling of a full night's sleep, settling instead for 'enough.' My eyes have forgotten what my apartment looks like when it's clean!

I strain even to remember the days of pregnancy, when my son was a nameless wonder unfolding in secret. I remember that I was nauseated, that I could not tie my shoes, and that for three months straight I slept on the couch, because nothing else would do. I remember, at the end, being all twisted with expectation, and eating pineapple until my tongue bled, because someone said it could help labor. I remember drinking gallons of raspberry leaf tea and running four miles on the treadmill, and really doing any foolish thing I read in an online discussion board that didn't seem outright dangerous.

I remember waking in the night, feeling like my whole body was clenched in a fist, as the tightening came over me. I could feel each one approach, like a wave at sea, a force that built and built, and thinking that it couldn't possibly happen so fast. That there was supposed to be a leisurely period at home, with this first child to be born. But it was not so.

I remember flying down Leesburg Pike in our serviceable Honda with the paint peeling off the bumper. I remember shaking and stumbling down a sanitized corridor in non-slip yoga socks, and realizing that labor isn't something you do, it's something that happens to you, like a hurricane, and you hold on and pray and know you will survive if you just. keep. breathing.

I remember a midwife saying that I must be very proud of myself, and it's time to push, and feeling elated and determined to kill the next person who touched me.

And I remember his cry, and the look of wonder on my husband's face, and the utter drained relief of knowing I had done it. This hardest thing. Gratitude and exhaustion and oh the desire to sleep.

It was dawn somewhere.

And then there was the little one, awake and a little blue and his face puffed like a little, wizened man, infinite in its freshness and its wisdom. Still nameless. But ours. Oh, ours.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Blessings 242 to 250

242. O, blue sky!
243. Promise of spring
244. Revolutionary shelving
245. The elephant
246. Patience commensurate to the small catastrophes of life with baby
247. Affirming words
248. Hope that it might yet be different
249. Covenantal love
250. Tasting his daddy's porridge (and liking it)

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Blessings 234 to 241

234. The way he holds my hand in his sleep
235. First giggle
236. His absurd little diaper-bottomed hula dancing
237. Waking to the curiously violet light of a California dawn
238. Chai
239. Two little boys in slickers being pulled in a wagon by their daddy
240. Warren's ringlets
241. Lengthening days

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Blessings 225 to 233

225. Excellent service at a restaurant
226. Remembering all the good that has happened
227. Parsnip soup
228. Cabernet sauvignon with overtones of caramel
229. Remembering how to ice skate
230. A look of boyish freedom on my husband's face
231. Mulled cider
232. A panoramic view
233. Sleeping in on Sunday

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Blessings 219 to 224

219. The cut tulips, plunging toward the window, that remind me to seek the light
220. The soiled diapers that tell me he's getting enough nourishment (how worried I would be if there were no diapers to change!)
221. The marveling width of his eyes as he contemplates a pot of yellow roses
222. This gratitude, this feeling of absolute blessedness
223. Gluten-free pizza
224. Nerdy people and their fascinating conversation

Monday, January 9, 2012

Blessings 212 to 218

212. Rediscovering sunrises
213. Rolling down the windows in January
214. Two years of marriage to my beloved
215. A big idea born out of love
216. Coconut milk lattes
217. New bedsheets
218. A pond full of Canadian geese, their arched necks settled contentedly into the down of their backs