Miracle

You are a song we are still learning to sing, a dance we’ve never moved to yet.

I wish you were here with me, now. Seated on the couch next to Noah, laptop open, toys spread throughout the house in little piles- one on the floor in front of the fireplace, one on the bed, some on the couch, a few in the nursery.

We move through our day rotating from one pile to another, Noah babbling and laughing and crying, me cooing, holding, nursing, getting in a few words of writing in between our orbit around the house. 

Most photos of little one are blurry these days- he is constantly in motion!

The work of raising a human is hard, full on. The work of being human is…same. 

I wrote this poem for Noah in the early evenings of pregnancy, before we knew his name or that he was a boy. Evenings of wonder, dreaming, and hoping. The tender, quiet, sometimes terrifying midnights of holding my belly, whispering blessings, praying for safe passage.

When I think how every sunrise and sunset is a masterpiece of light and color, never again to be repeated, painted across the sky in real time- it takes my breath away.