I’m done with editing words and ideas these days. I’m done with creative writing. I suspect the editing function in my brain is hibernating and the creative part has taken a hike to somewhere. Somewhere fabulous, I hope, so that when it returns I’ll have earth-shattering things to share.
My thoughts come in bursts, often in the shower, or the few times I’m cruising down the desert highway alone in my minivan. My wrists bounce off the steering wheel in rhythm to Alanis, as I join her in thanking “providence, disillusionment, nothingness, clarity, and silence.”
Sweet, sweet silence. How can I order up more of it? Usually, if silence curls around my ears it means that Kaia is pooping in her pants and Indigo is unwinding an entire roll of toilet paper and stuffing it in the can.
And so, my thoughts come chaotically and choppy, like tuning a radio in the car and hearing only blips of voices and songs.
Indigo is sleeping through the night, in her own bed! You’d think that would mean I’m getting exorbitant amounts of sleep now. Except that Kaia has begun crawling into bed with us nightly, kicking and squirming her way into my sleepless nights and half an hour bursts of REM.
My family is just now healing from two weeks of hacking, boogery colds plus a bonus round of pink eye thrown in for good measure. I lost my voice for a number of days and was terrified to attend a birth unable to speak save for croaking like a bullfrog. Indeed, I was called to a birth at 4am and repeated this mantra as I drove “Smooth, fast, and easy”. I arrived as my amazing client was pushing, her husband to her side in the darkness of their bedroom. Half an hour later, her baby was born, her creamy, thick vernix covering the hands of her mama and daddy as they caught her. I barely had to speak at that birth, lucky me. Smooth, fast, and easy.
Soooo, Kaia. Yeah, this 3.5 age is rather….challenging. It is the age of (cue booming voice from sky) WILL POWER! What she wants, she demands. WailOlympics would issue her Gold for duration and brain splitting reverberation. She is predicable, at least. If we ask her not to touch something, we can guarantee she will reach over slowly and touch it with the teensy tiniest bit of her index finger. AS IF THIS DOESN’T COUNT! This gesture is always coupled with a smirk. Last night, she slept with an opened bag of Goldfish nestled in the crook of her arms. When she moved from couch to our bed, the bag came along with her. At 4:30 in the morning, I heard a crunching noise emitting from her side of the bed. One Goldfish down, 150 to go.
On the contrary, she can be so brilliantly loveable (isn’t this always how it is? Comedy and tragedy mixed to create the best drama?). A conversation from last week:
ME: Kaia, if you close your eyes and imagine your heart, what color is it?
ME: And Mama’s heart?
KAIA: Red! And Daddy’s heart is blue!
ME: And what color do you think Indigo’s heart is?
KAIA: (thinking….thinking…) Purple!
Funny that I was thinking purple the whole time too.
Indigo is still an explosion of happiness and purity. I’ve been so lax in writing her monthly updates, and in the past four months she has become this focused stream of radiance that just doesn’t stop beaming. Hard to put into words, especially considering my writer’s block as of late. She is, at 16 months, already witty. She knows how to bring forth laughter. She mimics facial expressions and sounds spot on. She has a vocabulary now and signs to accompany them. She loves to swing and I love to watch her golden hair swish in the wind. She leans in for kisses, especially when her big sis turns to her and says “I’m sorry”. She’s a giver, that one. She goes down for naps and night night without a fight, clutching her fuzzy blanket and saying “Nigh Night!!” I could squeeze the puddin’ right outta her. She is also, as of a few weeks ago, 99.9% self-weaned. While the freedom is grand, I can get weepy at the thought of never being that close to her ever again, sharing the energy of the potion called Milk. We will find ways, won’t we?
Three more clients due to birth any day and then a break until January. The last one will be the 31st birth occurring in my 31st year. In fact, a week ago when I was tallying the total number of births I’d attended, it would only have been 30. And, I thought “Aw, I really think I need 31 before the end of the year. It would just feel right, being 31 and all”. Okay, I was truthfully a little more compulsive about it, thinking of ways I could beg a pregnant woman in the grocery store to take me on as her doula. And then a midwife friend of mine called and said “Hey, ya wanna attend a birth with me?” BINGO.
I’m at it again. Up to Ye Olde Tom Foolery. Obsessing over holiday gifts. Addicted to Esty after one day of internet window shopping to my heart’s content.
My body says “You should be pregnant right now”. I am always (ok, so it’s only been twice) pregnant at this time, every sixteen month. The season just doesn’t seem right without a seed of love growing within my womb. But I’m not ready. Neither is my body. And so, some spirit child awaits permission from the red moon and I sit pondering who they might be. The one whom will form a triad. “Perhaps a winter baby next time!” I say to Jason. He nods slowly, still thinking of all the sleepless nights we’ve just left behind (sorta). How strange to breathe in this glorious season of tingly breezes and just-right sunlight without a child in my womb or a fresh one in my arms. This moving forward will be new for me and I embrace the unknown, free to expand this body of mine – fully mine now – into the blooming desert.