Everything is so lovely. I don't even care that I have to go to the doctor and grade papers later. I have the most perfect little family, and I'm glad glad glad.
All that other stuff--the scary birth, my depression, the terrible messes--don't even matter. It's not that they'll never matter, but they don't right now.
Josh and Oliver are asleep on either side of me. The sky is light blue, and some clouds are floating by the window. The tall trees behind the apartment building across the pond are swaying a little. I have lace and a bow. I have a pink tube of C.O. Bigelow cinnamint lip gloss within reach for my chapped lips. I'm reading the sweetest novella in The Firefly Dance--a little girl trying to be happy, an enchanted and cultured young dance instructor, a mama with PPD who starts baking again, magic tea...I've marked so many pages from which I want to record passages.
I want our boy to be sophisticated and loving. I want him to know about books, poetry, music, movies, and musicals because they've surrounded him. I want him to be able to show new joys to his friends, cousins, girlfriends, wife. I want him to know what can make him feel calm and glad. I want to always snuggle him. I want him to see me as a person--flawed, needy, and sometimes sad, but I want him to see me as a source of love for him always. I want to never forget or dismiss him. I want to remember how very precious and beautiful he is. Everyone needs someone to do that.
Suddenly, the sky in the window is almost full of clouds. I still see the sun though. I'm getting hungry. We have thin crust pizza and garlic bread sticks in the fridge. This morning, Oliver stopped nursing suddenly, and a sputtering stream of milk covered his belly and mine. I laughed and called for Josh to look. I feel confident that I can feed my baby enough.
Polka dots seem to be in fashion, which is wonderful for me since I love them. I've ordered two tank tops from Gap--white with black dots and pink with black dots. I hope I'll be able to wear them for fun and under cardigans to work, at least in the summer.
When summer comes, I'll be home with my family six days a week. I will make those sweet and happy days. We are all so very lucky.
You have the sweetest handwriting.
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