remember that every second of your life
you have the choice, to either be a host to God
or a hostage to your ego
1/ morning wake up
2/ saturday evenings with my boy
3/ the time he picked a hydrangea and asked to put it in my hair
4/ eating a banana, taking him all in (more here )
5/ thrifted teddy, washed, cleaned, and loved
6/ upon waking
7/ favorite robe c/o belabumbum
8/ pointing out morning "rain bone" (rainbow) light
9/ nursery gatherings/ favorite leather bag c/o noonday collection
10/ airplane runways on the ledge of the bed
11/ brushing teddy
12/ homemade booties i stitched up for baby
13/ sunday morning coffee
14/ my beautiful boy
16/ lillies given to me by our boy (beautiful watch my husband is in love with, c/o daniel wellington)
17/ 34 weeks
it was almost midnight, and i was laying in the spare bedroom of my parent's house, unable to move, unable to walk, unable to get a hold of my husband who was driving home. gus had fallen asleep in my mother's bed, and i had every intention of joining them, but i couldn't get up. i was essentially stuck on the bed, feeling pressure rise and set in every opening my body would allow.
and there, in the dark room, without a face to reach out to, i let go. i sobbed and then wept, in a sequence i used to be so deeply familiar with - in a way i haven't done in years. everything fell inside me in that moment, as though i were a broken elevator shaft undergoing an earthquake, all the parts moving down me without any sign of bottoming out. in that moment, i broke myself. rather, i let myself break. i just spiraled alongside what had been begging to come out of me for so long now, and i didn't even try to contain it.
my mom walked in quickly after hearing my sobs, and laid down alongside me, brushing my wet hair out of my face, getting me a cold washcloth, soothing me in a way other a mother can. she told me i have not long to go, that i can do it, to let it all out for as long as i need to. she held me and said to rest my eyes, tomorrow will be better.
the past few months have been incredibly difficult in this pregnancy. i will not go into much detail, but this weekend, there came a point where i was standing in my parent's living room and i was truly unable to move.
"walk to the bed slowly, honey" my mom would say. i could only truly say two words. i can't.
my husband had surprised me weeks ago by booking us a babyboon to our favorite place on earth thus far, korakia. we actually went there for our babyboon before gus, and it was like being in a moroccan dream you never wanted to leave. i was counting down the days until we would drive to the airport together, getting my very favorite sour cherry gummies for the flight, and land ourselves in the depths of the saltwater pools and oranges they keep stacked in the entryway.
but my body, my beautiful baby's home, just couldn't. even the thought was too much. and walking appeared impossible. so my husband kindly, and assuredly cancelled our plans, and told me to not worry, that he would make the time we were meant to getaway - to be just us - beautiful.
and he did.
my parent's took gus on monday, and we have been at home, quietly just being together. my husband put on records, played me songs on his piano, poured me water and rubbed my feet until he fell asleep. he has made midnight runs to the market for boxes of cocoa puffs and talenti gelato and has taken me out for every single meal. he said that this is our time and even if we aren't in some magical place, we are at home, together, like it always used to be.
that's magic enough. his arms and his face. that's my truth.
we also made a trip to labor and delivery to be checked, and it appears i am already dilated a centimeter. things are happening. and fast. and i have never been more ready and more nervous and excited and overfilled with love in my life.
our time is fragile and fleeting. but that's what makes me hold onto the moments even more. no matter what we battle - how small or seemingly insignificant; no matter how intense or unimaginable, we are here now. we are given this day. guaranteed nothing further.
so we must. we must. we must. show up. give thanks. and carry on. through the fire, through the clouds, through the air and the wintry turbulence. we must always give our thanks, believing we are being carried to somewhere even more beautiful than where we stand right now.
we must believe that the horizon ahead is full and bright and will carry us all anew. this is all i know, right now.
/this recipe. so easy. so so delicious.
/ this album. oh gosh.
/ really want to make my own pickles.
/ oh, yes. my mom does this all the time!
/ my lovely friend living in london is expecting any moment, and she has been talking to me about freezer meals. i should get on this asap. ideas.