11

I have no idea what to write tonight, only that I need to come up with something brilliant.  So, to get this party started, here’s a picture I took while in Sacramento in March:

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It was taken right around the capitol building.  The light was perfect.  

***

I’ve been sorting and washing baby girl clothes, hanging them up in our closet on tiny little hangers.  It is a terribly exciting process.  I also went through the clothes we’d saved from when the boys were babies, and it broke my heart a little to think of them once so tiny, now so big.  Blueberry Girl will be wearing a few of their old things because she just must.  It’s a tradition now.

Here’s Charlie in the lemon sleeper that was a hand-me-down from our old cross-the-street neighbor:

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And here’s Simon in the same sleeper (with Charlie, who grew a little bit):

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You can bet good money we will put Blueberry Girl in that same lemon sleeper and take a million photos as soon as she’s big enough to fit into it.  Also, the diaper Charlie’s wearing?  We have six in that print and both he and Simon have worn them.  And Blueberry Girl will also be wearing them.  (Behold the staying power of cloth diapers.)

I honestly can’t wait to have another baby.  I really can’t believe I’m saying that, especially knowing how very, very hard the first year is.  For me, it’s not even the first few months, it’s the whole first year.  But there’s so much to love about having a tiny baby to hold and snuggle; I can’t wait to memorize her face and get to know her as a person.  I already feel so privileged to be her mother and to feel her moving around inside me.  Knowing that this is my last pregnancy and that she’ll be my last baby does tug at my heart a bit; I know I’ve got to be awake and aware and try to be grateful for every single moment, because each one slips away so fast.

***

The books I’m currently reading:

Backlash by Susan Faludi

Buddhism Without Beliefs by Stephen Batchelor

New and Selected Poems, Volume One by Mary Oliver

and a book of sermons by the interim minister at our church.

It’s still weird for me to say that I go to church.  After 16 years of not going to church and really not knowing where I stood on the religious/spiritual spectrum, it is very nice to attend a church that feels safe and offers me the space to explore what it is I believe, what my purpose in life is, etc. and that will hopefully be a safe place for our kids, too.  I want to write more about my spiritual journey (which sounds so incredibly cheesy when I write it), but it’s a big subject for a much more focused day.  For now, I’m going to close this post with a poem by Mary Oliver.  I read it this morning when it was still dark out and then was surprised by serendipity when it was quoted as part of today’s sermon.  I love it when things like that happen.

 

The Journey 

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice —
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life you could save. 

-Mary Oliver-

 

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