14 March 2018

the very boy of my dreams.

francis loves:

looking out the window, looking around the room, locomotion (by way of his wrap, his stroller, taxi cabs, the subway), tucked legs, expressive hands, nursing and napping, napping and nursing, music (iron & wine, simon & garfunkel, when mama sings edelweiss, boots of spanish leather, and circle game), rocking in our chair, papa's kisses, the rattle and hum of coffee beans grinding, moving through the world heartbeat to heartbeat with mama (his native land), when mama holds him so close he can't see a thing (my arms, his home).

09 March 2018

at week's end.

last week was sleepy. so very sleepy. cluster feeding day and night for a long stretch caught me by thursday, and the weekend was a study in finding small pockets to curl up and nap inside. i feel such gratitude towards christopher for that. in so many ways, he helps me be the things i can't easily be on my own. 

if last week was sleepy, this week was soft and full. i faced the days and nights feeling lighter and bright eyed and utterly myself, amazed at how little sleep i truly need these days and at how much of a difference just a wink more can bring.

our songbird found his sweet voice this week. his smile, too. they are — he is — absolute magic. 

this week we went for waffles at buvette as a family, and walked in central park under heavy snow, and my boy and i visited the met together, for the first time, as mother and son. chris and francis gifted me a membership for my thirtieth birthday. more than seven years in new york city — so many months of sundays spent wandering the galleries, church of sorts, one of my two spiritual homes — and i am a bonafide member of the metropolitan museum of art. it feels good. it feels right. it feels right for any day of my life, but it especially feels right for who i am at thirty. 

the love note accompanying my membership was from francis, asking me to take him to the met.

oh, my darling boy. i will take you to the met. i will take you deep into apple orchards in autumn. i will take you to the california coast. i will take you to breathe in the mountains, to fly kites by the sea, across oceans and avenues, to lay on your back under puffed, pink blossoms and the blue dream of sky.

it is my joy, it is my privilege, to be the one alongside your papa to show you the world and shepherd your discovery of your place in it. i want to teach you to love the earth, to build worlds of sticks, to find answers in poetry and bare feet on dirt and woods thick with bird-filled trees. i want you to collect friends and dreams. i want you to make things with your hands. i want you to watch rainfall and hear music notes. i want you to look at freckles on your own skin and see a constellation. i want you to ask why. i want you to feed your body well and understand where your food comes from and eat with gratitude of those facts. i want you to find the places and people and scenes and songs that make you feel things, and get lost in reaching for more, and tell me all about it.

(oh, my darling boy. welcome to your life.)

08 March 2018

one way to love myself.

six weeks postpartum, en route from a doctor's appointment, stopping for a to-go coffee and a book of poetry, walking home slowly in the snow.

(but not too slowly. a tiny someone needs you. and you need him, too. mutual adoration society, and all that.)

05 March 2018

papa & boy.

heartbeats of my boys, two mornings past. 

we rose slowly, settled in for a long nurse, and moved about the morning — the entirety of the day, really — happy for coffee and happy to be together. chris has returned to work from bonding leave, and francis and i meet our days of the week with curiosity. together we are finding our new rhythm, and what that means for a family of three.  

but weekends! blessed days when our beloved is home and time is ours for the spending. i have always loved weekends, of course, but lately they've felt so earned. 

and so our delicate right now is spent consumed by one another. i have been entrusted with two souls to love and call my own. two loves to wake to each morning and kiss each night. how about that.

what's more: i am a witness, a fascinated observer, of all that's blooming between papa and boy, and i am stirred to my marrow with deep, thrumming joy. my husband has a son. how about that.

01 March 2018

a happy list.

all the expressions this little boy makes throughout the day
getting mail addressed to francis
filling jars with hyacinths
giving our bathroom a good scrub
floral dresses
planning springtime road trips
finding photographs my husband has snapped of me and our baby
that francis loves my singing (he's the only person in the world who does)
listening to the song he was born to and traveling back to that place, again and again and again

28 February 2018


february has been so good to us. i think when i look back on this winter we spent awaiting, and then welcoming, our first baby, i will always marvel at how the rhythm of our bodies has mirrored the rhythm of our days, and how the rhythm of our days has mirrored the rhythm of the season. things have been slow and still, quiet and reverent.

we have delighted in home. lots of cooking. lots of napping. lots of baths. lots of walks around our sweet neighborhood for coffee and sunshine.

we have read novels and poetry. we have diffused wild orange and rose otto. we have watched the olympics and finished, finally, parks and rec. we have volleyed plans for spring and summer. we have been loved so well by family and friends.

we have rejoiced in growth: three pounds in four weeks, the deepening of partnership.

we are learning how to be parents, his parents, in just the way, in all the ways, he needs us. we are meeting each day with sleepy eyes and open hands. we are learning what it is to give entirely of ourselves, practicing patience and grace — helping one another carve time to feed our spirits — asking for, and granting, do-overs as we need them.

we have chanted it: our son, our son. we have felt the way those words roll from our lips and been rocked to our marrow. we have a son. 

we are learning what it is to be a family of three. we are discovering joy previously unimaginable.