I am eager to get back to writing and creating but, except for some cooking and baking, I have found less and less time when I can do these things. But, as I sit on the porch under the big maple tree, rocking one baby and watching the other dig in the dirt, I am so very aware that this period of time is finite. It is not easy, but when I can appreciate what I have, I do.
Most days feel as exhausting as a long day of planting seedlings in a field, bent over, moving awkwardly down the rows. As soon as I close my eyes I am in a deep sleep but if somebody needs me, I’ll be up and going. This feeling of physical endurance is accompanied by the small satisfaction that, more or less, I can handle the task. Rarely is it pretty or graceful but we make it through the days mostly intact.
Eowyn has only been here for a little over six weeks but I have come to know her sounds, her expressions, and her rhythms almost without realizing it. It surprises me to know her so well since I can’t often give her the full focus that I could with my first child. While I am in no hurry for her to grow up, I do wonder about what this little seed of a human holds and how she will sprout and grow and blossom, what she will be like and look like.
I will say it one more time and you don’t have to believe it or feel it, but right now I do: this time is so fleeting. It is the longest shortest. I want capture every moment and my many many thoughts before they disappear in a cloud of exhaustion and I want to be in it without trying to pin anything down, knowing it really will never happen again. Inevitably, I will be left with blurred memories but for now I try to mostly feel grateful that I am here.