Almost spring

My “free” time of late has not been spent being creative in any way, unless you consider procuring clothing to appear as if I belong in an office work environment a creative endeavor. Maybe it is. I certainly do not appear to be the same person who had the life sucked out of her these past three years since becoming a mother. As I write this, I would like to clarify that the life that was sucked out of me was the life I was leading before becoming pregnant with Mimi and Beenie. That life is gone. I’m not sure if it had completely disappeared during the eight week bedrest pre-birth, but whatever remnants were left post-birth were vaporized during the first few months of the girls’ lives outside my belly. I’m still not entirely sure what this life is yet, but I am sure that it is a denser and more thoroughly lived life than the one I lived before. Not to say that the previous one was not delicious, because, sweet lord, oh it was good. It was simple and it was self-involved and full of sleep of all kinds. It was creative in this wonderfully self-serving way, and I painted and made music and videos and traveled. Never made much money, but it always seemed just about enough to support my varied interests. Goodbye, really good life. I am grateful for your memory, experience and knowledge. This most current iteration of existence I’m still kind of new at, though feel more seasoned each month. I suppose I could liken it to using muscles I’ve always had but never needed. A good physical example being when I attended a yoga class a few months back, shocked by my new upper body strength in plank pose, thanks entirely to lifting two 40-ish pound girls all day, all night, every day and night. Flexing parenthood. You can always spot the old pros. They’ve got a certain look in their eyes. My eyes are still in the ‘I wish I had more sleep’ phase of knowing something.

I came to the tearful realization that these sweet and powerful daughters I now have will one day not want to sit on my lap. The past few years I’ve craved my own lap, rarely having it, but today for some reason the idea of a cold lap became the saddest thing ever. I was silently weeping as they rested and fought over me and rested again, finally both warming me. I know it must happen, of course. But the separation isn’t going to be a kind thing.


  1. Sweet, thoughtful, truer post I have not read in a while. Life sucked right out, uncomfortable getting used to new life that will only feel really right when it’s gone.
    There will be some serious joy in just marvelling at those grown girls who won’t sit in your lap, though, as you make art and find a new life post-post-bedrest.

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