motherhood.

A few night's S+ I sat with our backs against the couch in the living room as the sun set. Rowan was sleeping. The light blurred from yellow to purple to dark, and I lit a a tiny trayful of candles. The room and my hands still smelled clean and sweet from Rowan's bath and massage. We weren't ready to turn on the light. Outside, the palms and sweetgums blackened. I thought about how--even though I'll probably be awake at 2 a.m.--there's no way I'll actually make it outside to watch the meteor shower. And I didn't even worry about how that thought aged me.

Mostly I was thinking how great the light was. I clung to the mood, and I didn't want to turn on the lamp. The transition to night happened slow and smooth while we watched it.

So much unlike changing hemispheres and home overnight. Going from having a home to: uprooted. You can spend months knowing that you're about to move and change your life completely. But it's only visceral when that last flight takes off and touches down in your new local airport. You can feel the clods of earth still stuck to your toes. Those are the clods of familiarity, and they help you survive the replanting.

But my eight-month pregnant feet swelled to ham hocks on the flight over here. Soon afterward, we went from being two to being three. You can only prepare for motherhood so much. And you don't have to switch hemispheres for it to transform you, utterly. When a mama gives birth to her baby, she inevitably rebirths herself. Clumsy and shock-eyed at first, she quickly learns she's a superhero (however irritable she may be on occasion).

When we did turn on the light, it was time. The change felt right. But I wasn't ready to lose that connection with my husband. Sure, I wanted to blog. But we played Mancala instead, skipping the tie-breaker game, cuz Rowan woke up. That means Rowan slept for a couple of hours straight, which is very good for him! (It's really time for us to do something about his sleeping. I just don't know what we'll be able to handle, but that's another story.)

This post really doesn't have much of a point. Except to say how slow or fast things move. And that all this stuff happens whether we watch it or not. Ready or not.

How am I--all of a sudden--a mommy blogger? It infuses everything I do. I didn't intend that to happen on the blog, but here it is. Me and all my big fat motherhood. Maybe you can even feel it in my absences.

I don't think motherhood will obsess me forever. (Will it?) For now, it's what I breathe. We do other things too. Like go to dinner parties, celebrate tons of birthday, visit friends and try to get dance parties started by playing the right music, try to find a new place to live on craigslist, go for walks, listen to Pandora. It's just that Rowan is in all that, and in so much more--which is devoted only to him. 

I do like these kitchens and kitchen-cleaning tips. And I have to see this Oliver Voss statue, and read this book (coffee + book chick). And watch this movie (dolce vitae). But I guess I'd rather write about this huge transition I'm experiencing. It didn't transform me overnight. But day by day I feel myself blossoming. I'm more patient than I thought. And there's so much love. And in my finer moments, all love. It's kind of limitless.

I think it all started after we arrived to the States, and we entered a Motherhood maternity shop, and the woman greeted us warmly: Welcome to motherhood. On the inside I burst out sobbing and needed kleenex; on the outside I shuddered two fine tears and squeezed my husband's hand.

around the sun.

It’s a time of great change for our family, and I’m looking at it as a new leaf for me as I celebrate my life. Which is to say, I enjoy a birthday right after Linden. 

A year has zoomed by, and suddenly my baby is near toddling. It’s apropos that airplanes are Rowan’s favorite thing to draw right now (and for the past several months). For my birthday, he drew me airplanes. Serkan let me sleep in like a teenager, even though it meant we’d have to hike closer to home—not in the mountains as planned—and brave the midday heat. I awoke with a kiss on my cheek from Rowan and a happy birthday whisper-song, sung through a smile so long it tinied his eyes. 

We picked up some stone fruit from the farmer’s market on the way to the trail. We walked down down down to the American River. The trail was mostly shaded and we found a patch of shade by the river, where we ate hard boiled eggs, toast, peaches, and plums. Since we were totally alone, and it was hot, and it was my birthday, we skinny dipped. Cold! Refreshing. Rowan practiced pressing his face in the water, because he’s a penguin. Linden paddled the water with his hands and toes and stuffed his mouth with rocks and sticks at every turn. 

On the way back up up up the hill, Linden slept on me again. Rowan walked the whole way with a good attitude and kept step with his baba. We dropped the kids off with beautiful friends, and mama and baba enjoyed a peaceful, slow dinner. We talked about our dreams for the near future. How our journey to this crossroads has taught us about the kind of life we want to live. It’s exhilarating and deliberate, like leaping into an icy river (Inhale! Excite!) on a hot day (Exhale. Enter.). Breathe. Release.