Thank you for all of your kind words on my post yesterday. There is just something about letting babies go, and it doesn’t seem to matter whether they were ever mine or not. My heart loves them from the moment I hear they need parents. But more love. That can’t be bad.
Today is a much sweeter day. Some of you sounded worried, so I wanted to reassure you. J is already pulling out of her funk (seriously: maybe she does have a late-summer allergy. Do you think I can call it an asshole allergen without getting into trouble?). ;) We’re in the last twelve hours of the first trimester, and Dragon is making her lime-sized presence known by making J’s belly start to pop. I spent the morning outside gathering “icks” and “ocks” with Bram because I am, praise life, weight-bearing again. We needed hats and long sleeves because: AUTUMN. And Bram put about a dozen rocks in his pocket right away, and brought me an endless stream of sticks as I sat on the stoop watching him. Then we counted them together, which he is definitely doing now. Counting. I’m saying: counting. Our kid. Man oh man.
Then this arrived from Poland: a mind-blowing gift from our donor-sib-sisters, M & S. It’s Dragon’s first wrap, and it is… well, look for yourselves. I mean, it is just stunning. It’s an Oscha, a just-released limited edition (Roses Hera to be specific), and I am mad for it. It is as beautiful as hard is hard.** I know it’s for Dragon and all, but Bram and I will start wearing it now… you know, to break it in so it’s super soft when our wee squish arrives. That is the only reason. Not because it’s too lovely to leave unworn… ;) Seriously, though, there could be no sweeter gift with which to head into the second trimester of this little baby’s growth than these Roses.
That’s all for today. Thanks again for all the love this community offers us. I hope that autumn or something equally sweet is finding you wherever you are, and that your day is filled with bright, sweet joy.
P.S. Parents of littles: have you read Margaret Wise Brown’s The Little Island? A friend called our attention to it a couple of weeks ago, and I’m saying: it is the toddler-lit equivalent of Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse. So much lyrical beauty in such simple prose. Please discover it.
** You’ll find a prettier version of this phrase in The Little Island. So that was a tease.