The words are still here, swept inside of the busy days, but I feel them less neccessary. Or maybe myself less able, with less time, and so I let them go. Let go of the effort. Sometimes I sorrow and wish I had the sentences, the links of paragraphs, the capture and the proof of these days. Something to hold onto when I am old and this is all over. Is life ever long enough to really be here? To really be here, in every moment, which is the only one we ever have.
I spend time in bed, nursing Jasper close to me with his hot little hand on my skin, half in memories of the day and half trying to get fully what is happening right then, so in the morning it's not a memory I'm trying to relive because I didn't soak it in the first time. Just being and seeing and sorting and managing takes all of myself.
A struggle every day to not run from the moment into a book or a phone screen or the nutella jar. Just to be there, to figure it out, to let it flow over me; the moment in all its frustrations and beauty and challenge. To find the silver lining. To do my best. To feel the ecstasy and also to pick up the shards when I fail myself.
Holding Jasper's heavy honey velvet body as he sleeps and nourishing him solely at my breast. Holding the lankiness of Cedar, seeing his face thin and his mind develop. Knowing always, that today is the youngest we will ever be.