staying little

“The cosmos is also within us
We’re made of star stuff
We are a way for the cosmos to know itself” – Carl Sagan


The sun has tucked itself into the rocky layers of the mountains, putting its amber-colored orb to bed.   Lyric has long been nursed to sleep beside me.  Next to him, Kaia easily slips into slumber, the blankets tucked up to her chin.

I pull Indigo into bed beside me and she grins so that her eyes form the shape of a half moon and her cheeks are round little walnuts.   Our bodies still fit together;  her knees curled up so that the soles of her feet press into the soft of my belly.   I take a heaping breath full of the smell of her hair;  earth and sugar and desert wind,  a dash of the new-baby smell that I beg to always linger.    Smoothing strands of her coarse, sandy tresses behind her ears, I close my eyes and remember…

Journal entry at 29 weeks pregnant with Indigo:  “I love the way you feel in my womb – ripe and knowing – and the way I carry you proudly.  With every pulse of my heart, my blood nourishes and provides for you and we cycle through it together, connected, as one.  Thank you for offering of yourself so wholly.  Your gift – your light – grows more radiant with each passing day.”

My sweet, magical Indigo:  not only are you light, but light follows you.  And yes, there are many moments in which your energy becomes so strong and willful that you are Lightning.  Crackling and striking the solid ground with force.   Often we must duck for cover and let the storm pass.    But then, you are back, that child I knew within my own womb, who came to heal me and heal all of us.


As we snuggle together in the family bed, I rest my cheek on hers and the words just come:  “Oh my Indigo, please don’t turn five, baby.   Stay this way forever and ever”

And she whispers back slowly, all tender and genuine, in a tiny voice 

“Mama, I’m trying really hard not to turn five.   I’m trying really hard to stay little”.

My heart floats away as my hug grows tighter And I exhale huge gratitude that comes with tears, “Oh, I know you are my sweetheart.  I really know”.


I see already the transition that Five will bring.   Her physical body emerges from her spirit-filled one more and more these days, and she makes her gentle marks upon the earth.  When her fire rises she finds tools to either quell it or to gather the fertile ash later.  The questions come and her own answers are priceless.  I watch her dance among the be-speckled light of the morning, her bones not fully convinced yet of the laws gravity.

No one prepares you for this ache.

I wrap her smallness it into a medicine bundle and place it in a locket around my heart.

It’s all I can do.

marybeth says..."We already have". Yes.

5 Comments Add yours

  1. darlene says:

    oh that ache, i know it well xoxo

  2. Monna says:

    You put into words so perfectly what I so often feel when I look at my babies!!

  3. lula says:

    This is a constant metamorphasis for me, a painful one that hits me hard in the face every once in a while. I look back and wonder why I didn’t enjoy it more, savor it more, etc. Sometimes I would give anything to go back and snuggle Nathaniel at 2 weeks old. But remember, we savor and enjoy as much as humanly possible in the moment, and we often look back with rose colored glasses. I am so happy for the person Nathaniel is becoming and the wisdom I’ve gained in the process. The past has happened perfectly and time is urging us forward to new possibility and joy. This is what we must trust, because it’s true. The future brings inevitable growth of ourselves and our babies, which is something that deserves to be welcomed and celebrated. Its a balance between looking back with fondness, savoring the present and looking forward to the future. Ponder this: What wonderful things await you and your little ones, Leigh? 6 months, 2 years, 5 years from now? I can’t wait. 🙂

    1. lula says:

      And seconds after I post the previous comment I notice the picture of myself and my lil guy right after we was born. The pangs ensue… oy! It kills me.

  4. Trish says:

    Once again your experience mirrors my own, and sheds your beautiful light on it. Two more weeks until my BABY turns four and I have been mourning it. Feels like an ending I am not ready for. Love your authentic share as always. Thank you.

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