I write this while breastfeeding, my laptop perched on top of our changing table. My son R (now three years old!), is building a tower on our dining table, behind me. He is shirtless, noisy, and occasionally bumps into my leg or grabs onto my dress as he climbs up and down from the table. the tower falls. he builds it again, block on block, counting to himself (“two-one-another-nine” etc.).
My daughter, E (nine weeks old – strong and beautiful) has fallen asleep while feeding, mouth wide, her hands opening and closing.
I’ve been meaning to write for the past few weeks, but it’s been difficult
even now, I type with one hand while swaying and rocking (R’s sounds have startled E awake, her eyes wide and distant)
it is slow going.
and I haven’t known what to say. Our days are long and slow, and filled with big feelings. I open the windows, take the kids outside, and sing to myself, to try to keep perspective. Sometimes it feels like all we can do is keep holding on.
I’m hoping to get back into blogging here, and to (finally, it seems) open up my etsy shop (I’ve got so many ideas and plans for it!)- but I think it’s going to take a bit longer than I’d have hoped, and I need to be ok with that.
So, if you don’t hear from me again soon, assume I’m busy trying to stay ever, happily,