Two weeks ago,

my love & I returned home

after visiting our sacred place

and our doula photographing our full moon belly.

Two weeks ago,

I was sitting at this very table

and we were eating fish and salad

and as I ate the very last bite,

there was a gush of ocean water

and my waters burst.

Three days later,

I gave birth to my daughter.

How can I possibly say, share and express

just how much I am the same

and yet

I am changed.

Every day I say to myself:

Today… today is the day I will write Ostara’s birth story.

But then we sleep and we feed and we touch noses and we show Ostara the world

and we laugh and we cry and we get overwhelmed and we feel at peace

and we walk the park at sunset

and we learn more than we have ever learned.

And before I know it, it is time for sleeping and feeding again.

I look at this picture… taken only a month ago…

and I cry and think:

She was there with us. She was in my belly. We stood in that river with Ostara.

And the whole thing fills me up with hope, and with love, and with wonder.

There is so much to say, and so much to write…

but I write with one hand now,

and the other wrapped around my daughter,

and in some way…

around my self, my love, and us…

our little family.

I’m still learning about sleeping and breastfeeding and slings and mamahood and family…

and just what the heck to do from here.

It’s the curviest of learning curves.

One thing I know for sure though…

from the moment our little spark of light showed up as two blue lines on a stick…

to the moment she was passed into my arms by my love as a squirming, strong soul…

to this moment as I type one handed, her breath against my heart…

I am a better person by a thousand because of her.

Dearest Ostara,

You make my soul deeper and wider and stronger because you are you.

If I was to meditate under a tree for a hundred days,

I would still be wiser, lovelier and closer to being a Buddha

if I was your mama for a hundred days instead.

I love you with all the stars inside me.

love,

Mama