21 February 2018
it is the twenty first of february and one whole month as francis' mother, and this is where we are in our life:
our days move slow like honey, and also rabbit fast. i while away stretches of hours noting his smell — every roll — the purse of his milky lips — his slow, sleepy blinks — his exaggerated stretches — how he favors both his father and mine — how he folds his hands just so. i have never been so needed in my life. i am unable to put him down. i am desperate, all at once, for francis lafayette to grow big and strong, and to stay so small i can hold him in one hand. (the whole world is in my hands.)
it is joy, utter joy, to witness our parents as grandparents, to be in the midst of such love.
we are sleepy and we are happy. we are so happy.
i look at my christopher and this perfect creature forged from our bodies and the dust of the heavens, and i have never felt for anything such wild love. he is our bright star. he is our new way of living. (he makes me want a hundred more.)