Peace

I think it’s fairly safe to say that motherhood is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

Also, a lot more joyful.

The victories of every day are so sweet when you learn to slow down and be in each moment.

I imagine this could be true of any life, not just one of motherhood.

I barely remember myself the way I was before. But now I am here, grown and changed and better for it.

I still may weep in the hard times; there’s still plenty of them, but the resilience of my children has rubbed off a little on me.  Be wholly in this moment, and then move on to the next. Embrace the pain or frustration, along with the warmth and wonder.

Happy holidays, friends.

 

Dear Oliver

A few things you’re up to lately:

Late night pillow fights. You vs. the nest of pillows I’ve propped around myself to help me sleep comfortably. Kicks and punches and wiggles galore.
Bed time heart burn. One of these days I’ll finally remember to take Tums before brushing my teeth. It’s inevitable.
Hiding from your sister. Every time you’re kicking and she comes to put her hands on my belly, you’re suddenly shy.
Snuggling right up against my bladder. I feel like I’m living in one of those commercials for ‘leaky pipes’ and can’t wander too far from the restrooms.
Enjoying the warm weather. At least, I hope you are because it’s not really my favorite time of year to be growing a baby. Guess we should have thought of that before hand.
Getting everyone excited to meet you. You’re getting bigger. I’m getting bigger. It’s all happening so fast, I don’t have time for denial. Soon we will meet face to face and start to figure each other out. Until then, my dear boy, just keep on doing your thing.

Dear Baby

For real?
For real.
Here we go again.
Or rather, here I go again. You, love, are brand new, just a few thousand cells. Or maybe a few million, I’m not the best guesser, especially now.
I’d like to say, chill out, I got this, but I can’t bring myself to be that cocky. But I do kind of know how this might go, and together we’ll figure out the rest.

Thank you

Thank you warmth and shelter sweet.
Thank you water, and food to eat.
Thank you family and precious friends.
Thank you rules that I can bend.
Thank you lies old and new.
Heaven knows I’ve told a few.
Thank you corruption and those two-faced.
God forbid we give with grace.
Thank you poison, thank you weed.
Thank you carnage, gluttony, and greed.
Thank you cancer and fucking final death.
Thanks for our American wealth.

Domesticated

Got no needles,
But she’ll sew up that hem
With her bones.
No thread, neither
But she plucks her hairs and lashes
Til the job is done.

She rings the bell for supper.
Got no meat but there’s
Flesh of breast and thigh.
She don’t talk back
With out a tongue.

The perfect wife.

Dear Rachael, 18 years old

Look at you. You’re a fool
As anyone your age should be.
Dreamer and schemer, too.
Already you know
The steep price of love
And the power pleasure buys.
You’re greedy and selfish.
(Who can blame you?)
No restraint or qualms.
Your oyster is your oyster,
A golden ticket.
This life will get much harder for you.
Making your own way,
Rejecting anything by the book,
Even the Good Book,
So full of promises, you gag.
But low as you will sink,
(And sink, you surely will)
Peace finds you at the bottom.