written on 10.8.13
Dearest Will and Nora,
There are moments these days, in the middle of the night, when the world is blue and fuzzy, when one of you inevitably wakes up. There is the heart racing swiftly to the sound of your cries, the eyes shutting tighter, the body turning hesitantly toward the moon, when I do not want to lift my weary legs up, or out, to meet you.
But, I do.
There are moments when I come to you. To you, my Nora. Or to you, my Will. And lift your warm body from the bed, place your blankie under my neck, on my chest, and your head falls against me, softly.
There are moments, in this silent hour, this 2am, when I can feel all the world shift slightly to make room for us there. Me, your mother, and you, my baby. We rock peacefully to the beat of our lullaby. And it is in these moments, I find myself resting, finally. Breathing, steadily, in and out. Feeling your heart pulse against mine, stroking your soft, blonde hair. It is in these moments that I find my serenity.
There are moments when it feels as if all the worry the world holds lives right inside me, on my chest, on top of my lungs. At times I feel as if I weigh 1,000 pounds. My body, like lead, moves slowly, heavily, through the motions of caring for all of you. You, up the stairs and back down again. And me, exhausted, depleted, reaching out for something to grab on to.
And then one of you looks at me, a beaming, bright smile. Drool, like honey, falling from your rosebud lips. You, crawling towards me, falling on me, pulling yourselves up and into my lap, to find your place here, on top of me.
And I am weightless once again.
Today you find yourselves, 11 months old.
And I should be writing about you, my darlings. About you standing up on strong little legs, and then plopping down softly, a hesitant landing. About the waving and clapping and the signing of "more". You, pointing to the picture of the tractor in the book, looking up at me with eyes of wonder. Watching my lips form words, "ba ba ba?" you say. "Ba ba BALL" is my response. You, eating everything, banging your hands up and down on the highchair for more. You, giggling from the crib in footie pajamas as your big sister circles the room like a hummingbird. You, watching her intently, and you laugh, as she dances for you. And you laugh, because you love her.
I should be writing about you, my babies. But I can't tonight, for tonight I only have the words to say what you have done for me. You, my miracles. You, who came so suddenly, so unexpectedly, into the world. I wasn't looking for you, or praying for you, or asking for you, and I didn't know how desperately I would need you. But, He did.
I hold you there, at 2am, in the silence of the love that settles around us.
And you hold me.
Hold me up, hold me together, hold me on, until all I feel is the goodness of this life we share together. Until all I can see are your eyes falling quietly toward the earth, your body relaxing under the weight of my arms, your fingers grasping softly.
I know I am where I belong. And I know you are where you belong. And Evie is where she belongs, sleeping peacefully down the hallway. And the sun will rise tomorrow and we will struggle, and try, and make our way through another day.
We will hold each other as we go along.