03 May 2018

spring has come.

this season is gracing us with blossoms and green and new energy. days are given poetry by: floral candles and floral dresses and wooly sweaters and iced cappuccinos when it's warm and oat milk lattes when it's not. this is the stuff, this is the slow unfolding, of a new york city spring. 

i have such visceral memories of this time last year. we were sending up prayers for our baby like balloons to the sky and every day, every breath, was held on the wings of maybe...

and here we are, one may beyond. our first spring with a son. we are: delighting in central park resplendent in cherry blossoms and daffodils and poppies and violets. making spicy thai noodles by the potful. listening to simon & garfunkel. listening to rain on the windowpane. listening to the birds sing. watching the west wing, still. dreaming of going west, always. noting, every day, a new joy: a laugh, a trill, smiles of recognition, smiles in sleep, a tongue discovered, pointed toes, hands that comb my skin as he draws milk from my body, a first ride in a rumble seat. 

we look for ways to be with francis and play with him and engage him with the world around, of which he shows so much interest. we are learning to lean into his cues and feel guided by them alone. i am learning to trust myself as his mother, as the knower and feeler of what he needs. i read him poetry while we nurse in the sunshine. i spin music of all genres and study him to understand what it is that makes his spirit flicker, and i play it again. i give his beloved swans a twirl and watch his eyes dance. we walk to the window to see what we can see (water towers, dog walkers, trees of green, the moon). we fall asleep to clair de lune, together. 

together, my christopher and i look for ways to whisper love into days. he arrives home from work and selflessly nudges me to be gentle with myself (a bath, a walk, a spot of time to write). i help him carve time for exercise and soccer matches. we are learning, every day, imperfectly but with so much heart, how to be parents, and partners, and partners as parents.

we are giving thanks on bended knee for this precious soul entrusted to us. we are riding waves of disbelief that we could possibly be worthy. we are trying, every day, to be so. and then we try again.

and slowly slowly slowly, rhythm begins to bloom. 

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