8/21/19

To remember today, and my kind husband who cared for James throughout the night so I could sleep. To savor the tender, heartbreaking joy of what I know are the last few times James will nurse on me, his warm body nestled into mine like we belong together. He wails from the crib and I hold him against me and he instantly calms. I want to remember this, always. And how Maggie shows up bright and early and serves and makes me food and cares for my heart, too, also sharing her own, for that is our gift to each other. And how Emma and Ainsley knocked on the front door the length of time that is only appropriate for an eager 4-year-old and their giggles and joy at seeing James slumber quietly on the couch. I will remember, too, the pain of this week--swollen fingers, shoulders that won't move, throbbing pain, evasive sleep. And then I hold James close and know I would do it a million times over just to have him and hold him and love him. I will remember this time, a month in, as slow, quiet, joyful, sometimes-tearful, beautiful, homey, and rich.