i have tried sitting down to write augustus' birth story, and each time, i've ended in tears streaming down my face, so perhaps today is not the day. i remember the details so vividly and i hold his entering into this earth so sacredly that the memory of his beautiful birthday is in my very blood. it pulses with me and i taste him, smell him, see him in everything i do and do not do. i am no longer my own. i am his.
having a baby, a son (!) is like having an earthquake inside your chest. all the parts get rearranged and they never go back to where they were before because...they just can't. they have been eternally and physically shifted. forever.
there are clear distinctions of the human soul, lines that you cross or don't cross, and experiences that remove all that is left and replace it with something else. these lines, these distinctions ~ they all move toward one common goal, and that is stripping you of what you don't need and placing exactly what you have always needed in its place.
this replacement is my entire heart.
at five months, the days with him seem like the days i've waited to live my whole life. the days with him are the only days i know anymore, and time before him seems like it was one giant maze that was always only ever pointing to him (i feel that way about his father, too. oh his yummy, sweet, gentle father. more on that dreamboat later).
five months is beautiful. it is robust and chubby and soft and pink and cozy and cuddly and smiley. it is noisy and talkative and it is heard. it is smiling at strangers and turning when he hears my voice. it is eating bananas and staring for long periods of times at his hands. it is toe-sucking and dreaming under trees and talking to angels and god and all the people i cannot see. it is mornings in bed, just the two of us, and long walks at night in the autumn wind.
he is the everything. he is all. and i am so humbled to be on this new journey that god has mapped out just for us. i may not be great at it all the time, but my god, do i try.