Cracked

Little One,

I haven’t written anything in a long time. And a part of me mourns that. You fill those empty spots in my day that I used to spend writing. And though I wouldn’t trade you for all the writing in the world, sometimes I fear we will forget if I don’t record the heart of things to read later.

But maybe, in this age of documentation, of constant over-sharing, the essence of being here now gets lost. A moment that I don’t photograph is one I can pay attention to, live fully in. And though taking time to remember and reflect is valuable, you bring me mindfully into the world over and over each day, tethering me to the earth. So there are moments my mind spins with poetry as you lie peacefully on my chest, and instead of trying to write it down without waking you, I just sit there and let the swirls of lyrical thought drench my brain as I hold you, letting the river of thoughts flow back to the sea.

But sometimes, when I do get a moment, I let your calming presence, wrapped up in that milky baby breath on my skin, guide my hand to write.

My heart is strangely divided lately, on one side there is a joy in meaningful work, my hands busy and full and at peace. But the other is a creeping darkness, a knowledge that this is the safe part of life that I always knew I would have to reach to heal. And now that I’ve arrived, the parts that have patiently waited for attention are sneaking their tendrils out, begging for water. Your presence in my world has cracked my heart open, made me vulnerable and soft. That fact lets me love you with such intensity it leads me to tremble with the immensity of it all. But it’s also letting the demons out. I know that’s what’s behind my crazy need for order, the white boards and to-do lists and calendars and projects and plans. I know those things make me feel in control, like the creatures sticking their grubby little fingers through the cracks you’ve made in my porcelain heart can be contained.

But I know they will escape. And your father told me simply, “It’s okay to let yourself feel bad for a while. That’s the difference between healing and coping.” This is the time to let those dirt-stained beasts come into the light, taking their bleeding hands in mine and say, “You are forgiven. You are loved.”

So I will sit here silent today, in the twinkly light of the Christmas tree, your squishy weight in my arms, and wait. To-do lists be damned, I will walk through the dark chaos to emerge, eventually, better for you.

Vulnerable but brave,

Mama