two months

Hank came, as most babies do, programmed to eat and sleep and poop and grow.  He's really good at all those things.
And also at crying.  He doesn't cry a whole lot, but he does seem never quite sure whether to take a nap or just cry about being tired.  I can relate.

He might be the best night time sleeper of our bunch.  I like that about him.
I swaddle him ever so tightly and wait for his eyelids to close, and can usually count on a few hours of rest.  I lean over the railing to lay him down, whispering the same small prayers:
Protect him. Help me. Thank you.

knows best

I fell asleep on the couch last night.  Kind of like most nights, tired at the end of a busy day.
I know that being busy is not a status symbol.  Neither is exhaustion.

It was a good day, very good.  I felt well loved, in a little bit of a Velveteen Rabbit way, soft and worn.
We all met on the couch in the morning, cartoons on, three boys around me.  And on me.
Maybe it should be called Smothers Day?  I have reached the joyous (slash humbling) revelation that my body may never be mine alone.  Perhaps it's okay to cultivate this matronly shape, cushioned in all the right places to comfort heads and accommodate elbows.
I know I need to be nice to my body, considering it's the only place I have to live.

I got to take a long walk over the weekend.  Several miles, all by myself.  The first real "exercise" I've had since I got permission from my doctor last week.
I devote most of my hours and most of myself to them.  It is my immense privilege, my very honored pleasure.  But I am looking forward to getting back in the pool.
I know that my perspective creates the powerful current we may all have to swim against, or the one we get to stroke with.

especially small boys

It's that time of year when everything seems to double in size overnight.  Fiddlehead ferns and new sod and even small boys.  Especially small boys.

I caution them against running barefoot around the yard lest they sprout new toes, so fertile seems the loamy spring soil.

Everything is green and fragrant and glorious. How lucky we are to watch it, to watch them, grow.

just pictures

I want to write.  

I also want to sleep.

credit to Juliet Carey and James Coyle for a few of the snaps!

Angels and Kings

When we found out Hank would be our third boy, Andy joked that we're king makers.

When Tollie asked to hold Hank recently, I realized that he's known his new brother longer than he knew Celia.

When the lady at the doctors office seemed surprised to hear that he is our fourth, I wondered how much I'd need to say.

When I think about our family, I'm never quite sure whether we're five or six, how to explain that some are here and some are there.

When I try to figure it all out, I feel like my brain is both weary and wired, a strange marriage of contradictory states.

What I do know is this: when Hank arrived, it was almost like she stepped down from heaven and returned a part of herself with him.

Tuck Duck Goose

at Franklin Park

little brothers

I'm not sure I could have, in my wildest imaginings, dreamed up the journey to here.
I mean, really.  Has there ever been anything more off the mark than the promise of my plans?