A few days ago while my eldest was in the bath he began telling me about the books that he would someday write. Not just one, not just two books. I believe that he gave me a list of four or more...(which I promptly jotted down on a piece of paper for him to refer to when the time comes)
How can I, as his Mama not feel utterly inspired to create my own stories to tell.
Everyday, I am inspired by these children before me. Sometimes just looking into their eyes sends me spiralling into an abyss of silent creative splendor. I begin reeling with ideas that I cannot in the moment capture on paper, I have to try to stow it away for when I have time alone...Ha!
My truth be told, I am never alone, not truly, not yet.
I'm 100% dedicated to raising my children, which entails the smallest to be with me (if not awake and crawling or working on walking skills), then he's on my asleep and/or nursing. There is no other choice for me, this is how it must be. SO, since I have a not yet 1 year old, he is always here...and I love it!
Now, in the moon glow of this beautiful and bone chilling night, I can sit here, on this birth ball (sleeping baby upon my chest via baby carrier) and write until my eyelids start to close. Though, I won't, I will soon realize that even though it's not late for most people (only 9:30pm!), that I will be awakened around 7am and to avoid turning into a grumpasaurus, I better go to bed.
One last thought though. As the next month is right around the corner, the month of this sleeping babes birth, my heart feels full. It's terribly hard for me to get into a memory space of what my body felt like at this time last year, a few weeks from his birth. Though, I can recall what I looked like! I was heavy-set, as I do become in pregnancy, and the last pregnancy was the "lightest" of the three I have been blessed to have.
Still, February is coming and this wee one will become a 1 year old! Oh my, little guy, OH MY!
The month following, March. On March 3rd, will be a day to remember Birdie who would be 6. My recollections of the time spent with her body after her death grow less and less clear with each year. There have been plenty of times in the last few years when I have stepped off and away from writing about her, about her death and the experience of such tremendous loss. This, has left me feeling a kind of empty space, confused, helpless and guilty.
I cannot be hard on myself about this, obviously I am full aware that I have two living children who keep me full and high on them everyday. There are definitely whispers of her that fill the house, and sometimes tears...when my oldest son (who is 4) asks me about her, and asks to look through her memory box. Or, he will surprise me with his thinking about her, and talk about her being in the stars and how he loves her so much and misses her...and how he really wants to see her.
In these moments shared with this amazing living child, I feel full of him and her all at once.