Hey, all. I’m here—we’re all here, actually. Mr. Ables is grading and listening to Iron and Wine’s new one, Nola is swaddled and sleeping in her swing, and Silas is cuddled up in his crib down the hall.
That sounds just about right, doesn’t it?
To zoom out a bit, there are four piles of laundry to be folded (or stuffed—one’s a pile of cloth diapers), which probably explains my sudden urge to blog.
But I miss the reflection/sharing aspect of this space. I write more in my “real” journal these days, and I know that must make my lack of Nola-words here seem so unbalanced after my gratuitous over-sharing (redundant?) with Silas’ babyhood.
I guess, in some way, Silas was for everyone (including me) and Nola is only for me. I long to be selfish because I know how fleeting it all is. Her smiles her scent her newness is for me me me. Maybe I just am over the whole “look at my baby” thing.
That’s not true, either. Peek at my Instagram and you know it.
So here’s some things about life lately:
Nola smiles just like her father: dimples and eye crinkles.
She’s made someone cry because of her cuteness.
Her hair is staying strong.
I sometimes forget to bathe her for a week. (!!)
She rolls from her belly to her back like no big deal.
Her laugh is deeper and more resonant than Silas’ babylaugh.
Saturday marked her four month birthday. Four months! An absolute blur.
She’s ticklish under her chin.
Just like her sweet namesake, she is easy going and (I’d like to think) down to earth.
She’s peed and/or spit up on just about every relation and loved one.
I want her to know one day that as she grew within, it seemed that she brought forth in me a fervent desire to create. She ushered in a new season of my life—not just of being a mother of two, but I’ve gained new friendships, new confidence, new faith.
I’ve never been like this before. Of course not. The morning she was born I played Gungor’s song “Beautiful Things” on repeat. The chorus/chant “You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of dust” looped in my head for her first days.
Indeed beauty comes from the simplest elements. I, in so many fragile ways, have found myself ground into my most basic self and am finding a gorgeous newness springing forth.
No coincidence in this season. Praise praise up and up.