MORNING THOUGHTS/ 27 WEEKS

"Wishing you a day of remaining in the moment. Not the past or future or story. Not your thoughts or anxieties or lists. But right here, right now, straight into the center "

|Victoria Erickson

while steve and augustus prepare the morning coffee together, to which gus calls "coffee time," i usually lay like a lazy cat in bed for a few lingering minutes, just to have a moment all my own before i begin the day. i can always hear the grinding of the coffee beans, our boy's little voice saying, "ok daddy, i be cawful" and the whistling of the yellow kettle telling them its time.

i lay there, staring out our windows which sit across from our bed, and gaze. i don't know what i think about, if i'm thinking at all, or if i even need to. i just feel alive and calm. quiet and relaxed.

soon after these moments, i hear two tiny feet running down our hallway, rounding the corner, abruptly stopping at the side of our bed. within those seconds, i make sure i've pulled back the pillows to see his beautiful face pop over the covers."ok mama, coffee time!" he says, and that's my que to make my way out of bed. usually he runs back out, ready for his morning oatmeal, and i stumble trying to find my robe and socks.

i shut our closet door, and stand in front of it. not an easy task for someone with severe and perpetual body image disorders, but i do it. i lift up my too-many-nights-slept-in vintage nighty and turn my body. once to the right. pause. once to the left. pause. i see if we've grown. i examine my stretching skin.

i secretly, quietly, and deeply smile.

another day. more progress. more growth. more love. more love. more love. more love.

this time around, the days have been much harder. my breath is much heavier. my heart literally races and hurts, all day. my blood pressure drops immensely for no reason, and i have to quickly sit for fear of falling. without an explanation, i keep hope. i keep faith. i trust. i assume this is all a part of my voyage, one that will sail straight to her arms. or his.

i dare not wish a minute of it away. or wish for the days for it to be over. i love every second. i love every ache. every lost breath. every skipped heartbeat. each sciatic nerve collapsing. every part of my body fighting to be the best possible home and host to our light. it's all wrapped up in this package we will hold come less than three months from this moment. it's all progressing towards our new and beautiful baby.

1/ tea time in bed
2/ 27 weeks, the photo of this entire post
3/ my little boy angel, asleep in the pretzel twists of my legs
4/ upon waking
5/ nursery dreaming
6/ a corner of the nursery
7/ lemon-poppy bundt cake decorated with pansies (made with my mama)
8/ waiting on the water to heat, a practice in patience
9/ the sweetest image: dad and gus putting together his "big boy bed"
10/ most afternoons, shirtless for the both of us
11/ coming back from the market with flowers peeking out of his backpack ;)

/ this song
/ this recipe (i added roasted chickpeas too)
/ this short documentary - i love the handmade knives
/ this hair
/ i would rather have them than a million dollars. photo 11 killlsss me.

MY VERY FAVORITE SANDWICH: TOMATO + CUCUMBER ON THICK TOAST

i remember when i was little, my mom would make this sandwich just for us girls, since my brothers and dad loved the big messy deli meat-filled sammies. she would make this quietly in our kitchen and often carry it to where i was, sit down near me and there we would share this perfect sandwich.

it's so simple, based off of fresh ingredients and hits it out of the park every single time. especially. and i mean ESPECIALLY if you are pregnant. if you aren't a fan of mayo, maybe try cream cheese. and don't shy away from good quality bread. it makes all the difference.

TOMATO + CUCUMBER ON THICK TOAST

Ingredients

a loaf of good bread, preferably sourdough or italian

heirloom tomatoes

cucumbers

mayonnaise 

lemon

sea salt + pepper

Directions

cut your bread into thick slices. throw in toaster or on broil in the oven for a few minutes, making sure each side is toasted. while it's toasting, slice your tomatoes and cucumbers. once the bread is done toasting, add your favorite amount of mayo and then layer on the tomatoes and cucumber. drizzle lemon (not too much, just a drizzle) and then add sea salt and pepper.

enjoy!

*beautiful linen napkins c/o pehr designs

MOTHERING TWO/ PROJECTION

we had gone out for pho on sunday evening and i ended up on my hands and knees in the restaurant, cleaning up the entire bowl of noodles augustus purposefully threw onto the ground. he was still in his high chair as i was on the ground, continuing to slowly drop parts of his dinner off the table and in that moment, i kind of lost it. i raised my voice, became quickly upset and immediately frustrated. steve was paying at the counter so missed this entire moment, but as he turned back to check on us, my eyes were about to burst.

i can't do this, i said. there's no way.

he sympathized with my frustration, and helped me off the floor, only to watch me leave the restaurant abruptly and apologetically waving to the waitress while mouthing "i'm sorry" as we left a tornado of a two year old on the table, chairs and floor. i started crying in the car, telling steve how hard this age is. how am i supposed to discipline him? why does he do this? does he even know what he's doing or does he think it's funny?

do all two year olds do this? or is it just him?

(now, of course, it should be deeply noted that all moments aren't like this. for the most part, they aren't. but, it's important, i think, to note the harder moments. the ones that test you and pull at you and leave you needing the light back again. the ones that humble and embarrass you. the ones that remind you of your mortality and of your bare human nature and of of course, our collective truth that we aren't perfect so we can't expect that of our children. nor should we. nor would we. and also, as a reminder, that it's ok to feel like you're the only one going through whatever it is you're going through. because the truth is, most likely, you aren't. and we all need to hear that sometimes.)

what went from crying literally over spilled noodles turned quickly into questioning my ability as a mother. and then even quicker, as a mother of two.

i have so much left to figure out. i have so much we need to work on. he's not even sleeping in his own bed. he still uses a pacifier. god forbid his beloved blanket ever get lost.

all these things. all these things that are our so very right now began catapulting straight into that large cavity in my body where i let worry root and flourish.

my husband assured me. grabbed my hand, kissed it over and over as we were driving, and said, "first, it's going to be hard. really, really hard. but it's worth it. all of this is worth it."  then he said "and second. life is full of challenges. and we will handle them together. and we are not going home. we can't let the hard moments be what we remember from his evening."

so he drove us to our town square to let gus run and get us all ice cream.

after we parked, there was a family sharing a pizza sitting down in the grass a few feet away from us. two twin boys. one boy a little older. and a baby girl, probably no more than four months. and there they were. sharing a pizza on a warm sunday evening as though it were just an ordinary, every day type of thing. the baby was balanced on the father's lap, one twin boy was in his mother's arms and the other two boys were pouring more parmesan cheese onto their pizza and it all made perfect sense. it looked real and normal and so...ok.

i'm not naive to think that perhaps ten minutes from this or ten minutes prior to this could have been or will be disastrous. there could have been meltdowns and tantrums and throwing of food and unsanctioned behavior and hitting for absolutely no reason, too. but what i saw was a moment for a family of six that appeared to have been written in the stars. it was there all along.

it is in us to survive. to rise above. not from the ashes, but from our own created dust. it is in us to persevere, find the good, wake up and look for it, make choices to see it and grab it and belong to it.

what we don't know, we will learn.

what we don't know, we can learn.

if we find those rooted parts of ourselves that are braver and stronger than we believe. if we find the parts inside of us that were made to feed on a little more love, patience, and understanding.

if we can do a little more than what we are doing. if we can try a little harder than we're trying.

stepping back, it wasn't about the noodles on the ground or the rushed, messy meal. or the tantrums that happened at the dinner table. sure, it helped add to my already emotional state, but it was more based on my fear of not knowing what is truly to come, in so few short of months.

it was about questioning my motherhood, my ability to mother, my role in these tiny, perfectly-made beings, my part in the puzzle we are putting together each and every day.

it was about me. about where i feel i am lacking and where i am feeling unworthy and unequipped.

once i realized this, it was easier to traverse the difficult. it was easier to see myself beyond my motherhood and as a young woman trying to set a life that my children will look back and smile upon. i want them to see me as a woman of strength and forgiveness and love that will never give up even when the moment pushes me the ledge, waiting on only a slight breeze to watch me fall. i want them to feel a happiness that lingers in their bloodstream and see the good in all and give thanks every day for another chance. for all we have been given. for all that still lies ahead.

i want them to know how to carry on. how to make mistakes and take responsibility for them. i want to teach them what goodness looks like. what it feels like to know they are loved and safe. i want them to know that i stood - not in front of or behind - but beside them. i want them to see miracles when they look at trees and whole planets when they hold a flower. i want them to witness the parts of life that are hard so they hold on even tighter to the parts of life that are so wonderful.

because i know. because i deeply, deeply believe. the best days are still very much ahead of us.

we just have to find a way to keep that thought burning bright above us like halos.


and if none of what i wrote resonated with you,
have a look at this site . it will make you cry laugh,
and remind you that we are all in this thing called parenthood,
together.

high five, mamas. low hi's, dada's. let us laugh at all we think we know and celebrate all that we don't. that's what makes life miraculous.

THE FIRST WEEKEND OF JULY.

i can't stop listening to this song. i told steve i think i'd like it on repeat in our delivery room when the day comes. if only for the whistling, and the way they hum 'moon' and 'wrist' into the same line.

i also need to get my actual camera out. my iphone photos are just really frustrating me lately. so tired of the grain. in need of the slower, clearer and more methodical pace of my canon. kind of how my photos used to be. i'm sure i will get rightt on that.

on the morning of the fourth, augustus and i travelled about one minute down our road to buy our strawberries from a very serious aging asian man with perfectly parted hair. we bought a huge case for fourteen dollars strictly to make jam in my mom's kitchen, like we do each year. before i could get them to my parent's house, gus had about twelve, the tiny seeds alive in his nails, his cheeks sticky and red, staining his vintage patriotic shirt i had been waiting years for him to wear.

"mooh staw bewwies," he would yell from the back. "pweeese mama! pweeeseeee"

for dinner, we had roasted chicken, an avocado, cucumber and tomato salad and baked rosemary potato wedges. steve met us just in time for the neighbor's fireworks, and a slice of berry pie.

"oooooo! big candles," gus would say. how beautiful to call fireworks candles, i thought.

candles of the sky, really.

we tried this recipe on sunday evening together. with anchovies (which we never do)! i love how she makes the dressing first right into a wooden bowl. we even went to the market just to get the ingredients. steve made the dressing and croutons, i rinsed the kale and drank lots of icy lemonade.

i'll be sharing a few pregnancy related posts this week, if any of you are interested in that (i am fascinated with other women's pregnancy and love comparing notes).

1/  lemonade cups before dinner that were thrown away after discovering high fructose corn syrup in the main ingredient. ugh.
2/ resting while baby boy plays with his dada right outside our bedroom window
3/ big candles ;)
4/ bringing home the strawberries
5/ fourth of july nap
6/ daddy ran off stage while playing to give us a kiss and dance one song with us :)
7/ holding my blooms while i collect more. i love him so.
8/ swinging naked wrapped in a towel after an evening swim
9/ summertime augustus george

THIS TIME.

1/ falls into my arms after his time in the hot tub

2/ fast asleep under my dress

3/ sunday morning farmer's market 

4/ getting ready for nap time with my babies

5/ always helping me with shopbonjourmoon 

6/ in mama's sandals

7/ another day, another photo with my sleeping baby boy

8/ celebrating good news from the doctor with trader joes cards + stock flowers + cherries 

9/ listening to our favorite summer song, but this version :)

10/ growing his beard, making me weak in the knees

11/ filling our painted bird houses

12/ father's day morning - quiche and two simple presents

13/ alphabet practice

14/ flowers for us from steve 

15/ afternoon at the ice cream parlor

16/ sharing a raspberry lime sno-cone, watching dada perform

17/ hanging lavender above our bed as he lay sleeping

today, on the first of july, somehow, i am twenty-four weeks pregnant. how that is possible i am still sorting. it's kind of like having a profound statement to make in class or in a circle of overt intellectuals, and as you raise your hand to speak, the thought has entirely left the whole of your body. i cannot manage to get the words out, though i feel them and know them and could point to them on a map if i could.

time is passing through me like a rushing river. it was just a few hours ago i was sneaking into my husband's music room after dinner, handing him a tiny sealed muslin bag with the positive pregnancy test inside. it was just a couple minutes ago we both broke down once we heard that hammering heartbeat that pulsed inside our chests.

this time, however fleeting, is sweet. i appreciate everything. i see everything. i laugh at nothing. smile at the littlest nothings. i move differently. sleep deeper. i eat with such appreciation and carve out time just to notice the new set of butterflies that seem to have unearthed over night. my rubbing thighs and flabby arms have removed themselves quietly from the limelight i often (eh, every day) used to give them. i rub almond butter onto my belly, playing faux piano notes on the side of my rib cage, waiting for him to respond. or her.

i look at my husband differently. i kiss him abruptly, all the time, out of nowhere. not like i didn't do that before, but i do it even more so. i kiss him everywhere, reach for his hand, move my fingers through his curls, trace the back of my hand alongside his silver fox-ed beard. i see him as our king, the man who breaks our bread and makes our home. the man who loves hard, who reaches inside me when i can't seem to be found on the surface. i see him as the man who gives me everything. a life, love, true as a blue sky, a flying bird, a laugh, happiness. the man who gives me our babies. i see his face and i make bargains with god just asking for more days alongside him. more days to see this beautiful man fall deeper in love with his beautiful fatherhood. more days to reach for his hand alongside the sidewalk and market. more days to overhear him say "my wife." 

this pregnancy is so much different than the last, not more, not less of anything, just different.  i know it because i hear my thoughts differently. i see everything a little differently. and when i look at what's all around me, i just want to run head first into it, with my baby boy, my husband and our baby to be running right alongside me. 

i guess, this time, i know what to expect, and at the same time, knowing what is happening is almost as beautiful as knowing where it is is all leading.

to more love.

more of this.

/

i really like this song