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
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.
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.