(that's a little bit of Cedar's 'milk face,' as in, Woman, what are you doing. Feed me.)
Morning light. The storm is on its way. Tim went to the store late last night to buy gasoline for the generator. I've been filling all available jugs and containers with water. I like the hum of preparation, yet hope the storm is not bad after all. I hope the old pines keep standing.
Pumpernickel french toast. Local maple syrup. Tim set the table.
Cedar passed being four months yesterday, and is now in the very beginning of his fifth. He slept 7 hours in a row the past two nights. The first time I didn't get much sleep as I was a little worried and kept waking up, but last night I was much more at peace since I knew he might do it again. I was laughing at breakfast for the first time in a while. And I'm not sure why he is sleeping so long. Just in time though. Just as it really couldn't have gotten harder, or I couldn't have bourne it.
Just by the time I figure out what was going on it has already passed and I'm into deep water again. In hindsight everything would be so much easier if I had only known what I know now. But I couldn't have known if I didn't learn on the way. Just barely in time. I wonder if it will always seem this way.
It took a while, but it's coming together. He naps here during the daytime. He enjoys it and even hangs out in his little co-sleeper for a while alone upon waking. A few nights back he awoke after a dusktime nap and looked curiously all around at the dim, colorless, mysterious room, trying to reconcile it to the bright one he usually awoke in. The thoughts that run through the minds of babies must be interesting things. I can see him figuring things out in front of my eyes.
Reliable, predictable naptimes. And he's sleeping in his own bed about half the night.
I guess we were clueless before. How? We tried so hard. Perhaps Cedar changed. As he does each day. He looks forward to nap and a song and I feel light as a feather laying him down to sleep.
We've got the mornings down anyways. It makes me not want to leave the house. It makes me scurry to figure out the best-possible, most-satisfying, rightest thing to do with my hour.
A few nights ago my mom watched Cedar while Tim and I got into the car by ourselves and drove away. We drove through the hills and down to the river for dinner. It was weird. I laughed a lot more than I have been laughing lately. We found enormous sycamores and wrapped our arms around them, marveling at the size of their trunks. We quietly ate and talked during a dinner just like we used to. And my thoughts were all over the place. I wanted to enjoy it but was partially back with Cedar. It felt strange to walk upright and straight without either of us compensating for a baby's weight. I thought even about parents who lose a child and have to return to the simple twosome. Awful. Not that it was awful to be alone with Tim. It just isn't really us any more. Us is three.
As much as you can own nature, these woods are ours. It feels so old-fashioned. We own land, and trees, and can go out in them whenever we like, day or night. When we first saw this parcel of land it was winter and the trees were bare. We left the realtor behind and hiked across the woods, climbing boulders with hope in our hearts. We knew it was the place for us. Since then we've seen the trees sprout leaves and now drop them in a festival of color. I feel let into the secrets of the salamanders, the woodpeckers and the deer.
Each year we live here, until we are old and gray, we'll know these secrets more and more fully.
He's getting cuter and super smiley. Very comfortably chatty as well.
I'm starting to move him out of our bed into his own at night, next to ours.
Sometimes I don't because I miss him when he's not there.
But then I have a night when he wakes every 90 minutes and wants to nurse (since I'm right there) and I vow to make it happen. (90 minute naps all night make me dream awful dreams like getting mugged or held up at knifepoint...!)
I've discovered the charming illustrations of Taro Gomi.
And bought a beautiful green lambswool woven rug at our last local farmer's market of the year (on a freezing cold day with Cedar nestled warm under my sweater and a little box of salty potato fries and a apple-fennel salad in my hand, as I wandered buying citrus honey soap and russian kale), and put it in Cedar's room, which finally looks clear and inviting and is so cold right now we have to turn on the space heater each morning so he can nap comfortably later on.
We got a baby monitor and that thing is a soul-saver.
I've been puttering in the studio once more, just letting my mind roam. Getting my own back. Framing some of my favorite drawings and polaroids so they can enter our house. I've never been one for having my own work so much around, since I get my fill of it so deeply when I make it, but lately since the move we've had people over often asking about my work ~ it's nice to have a few walls full of it now to show.
The nasturtiums are still bravely blooming even after the nights in the 30's.
I love getting packages in the mail. We get a lot these days as I'm ordering more online, living here in the back of beyond.
Each week we discover a new thing that helps us put another root down to this area. It has room to grow. My heart stops when I see the hot-air balloons over the hills.
For my birthday Tim gifted me a silver-and-opal ring. It's good luck to wear opals, my birthstone, and I feel like I'm wearing a piece of the moon.