At fourteen months, Henry is almost done nursing. It’s bittersweet for me. I’m elated to buy beautiful lingerie again. I will be burning the terrifying nursing bras I’ve been wearing for three years straight now! I’m excited to have my very own breasts again. And I’m sad to have this most beautiful and sacred time with him come to a close.
So, as we walked along the sea yesterday, he wanted to nurse. I sat down on the warm sand, the waves gently lapping my legs, the sun warming my back, and fed him. The ratio of salt to water in the ocean is almost identical to amniotic fluid. I felt so connected to something bigger than me, something ancient and beautiful, sacred and staggering.
Just a moment, a moment I will always remember, and always cherish.
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Love and Loss and the Magic of Fairy Wings
And now the baby is 16, the same age as Sleeping Beauty when she pricked her finger on that spinning wheel and fell asleep. But my girl is definitely not asleep. She’s awake, probably the most awake person I know. At 16 years old, the is full of love and kindness and a devotion to truth and justice that seems unshakeable. This girl can easily defeat fire-breathing dragons. So maybe all the wishes from the women/fairies at her baby shower worked that day.
The truth of the truths, the truth of my battered grieving soul, is that love just keeps growing. I loved my father so much and then I met Kim, and my heart burst into lights and a whole new love, a love I had never seen before and it felt like my heart got bigger, and then I became a mother, and my love grew even bigger. Boundless. Timeless. Eternal. I still feel it when I look at the sunlight on the sea, when I link arms with my son, when I hear my daughter yelling, “Mom! I need an emergency hug right away!”
And, now that I know the staggering pain that comes with losing the people you love so much, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. I wouldn’t trade one extraordinary moment.
When we made the wings all those years ago, Kim kept saying we were infusing them with our love. I think she was right. Because if there’s one real truth in this world, no matter where people go when they die, the love remains, and in the swamp of grief, I need to remember the wings.
A Whole Lotta Shaking Going On… in Samba
Humor me if you will, and picture this: 1) a chicken trying to fly; 2) a dog doing a full body shake after a bath; 3) and an oompa loompa doing jumping jacks. Now, meld those three images together. Got it? If so, you have a pretty good idea of what I looked like at a samba class the other night.
Running of the Bulls and a Hemingway Fantasy
“I had missed the Running of the Bulls because I was brushing my teeth in a matador’s hotel room.”
My Beautiful Barbarians
This blog post is a combination of one I wrote in 2007, continued in 2013 and finished in 2019, although maybe I’ll add to it in another 6 years. My three-year-old daughter just took a parasol out of her baby brother’s hand. I say, “Miss Annabelle, you can not take toys from Henry.” She glares at me, stomping one bare foot and growling. She’s standing in her Curious George underwear, so small and delicate, her hair in wild toddler curls…
I love reading this stuff – I feel like we are still together somehow. Miss you all especially when I see photos of Miss Diva and missing discussions about her hair. Keep writing! Love, Michelle